The Great Mockingbird
by Stargategeek
Summary: A dazzling 1920's summer. The rich are golden and bathing in bootlegged liquor. The music is loud and swinging. Everyone worth anything is engaged in a cacophony of mindless self-indulgence. At least thats what it sounds like from where the young Sansa Stark stands. A Great Gatsby/Game of Thrones AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Sansa Stark pulled into the drive of her new home - a quiet little cottage by the lake, where she hoped to get some work done, maybe some journaling if she was good. Her parents had set her up on the west side of Westeros in a place known as The Fingers; they lived on the East in a community called Winterfell, across the lake. If she squinted she could almost see her family's home from the beach.

Her little cottage was nestled in between a thicket of low hanging willows, known as the Godswood Park in this area (the last untouched landscape in the city for miles) and a large palatial home to her right. It was a grand house, with walls so high and covered in ivy it only served to make the cottage feel more isolated. It was only when she ventured beyond her little garden and patio to her beach that she could really see the vastness of the property beside her. It was a three-story mansion with crystalline windows, and coral-colored stone, spanning the length of an entire football field end to end...at least it felt like it did - she wouldn't be surprised.

When she first came to look at the cottage she had asked the landlord who owned the grand palace beside the modest little shack. She had expected some kind of king or celebrity, but the answer was even more elusive than that.

"That house belongs to Baelish," the landlord had whispered conspiratorially.

"Who is Baelish?"

"You haven't heard of him. He's all anyone can seem to talk about these days. They say he is a businessman, works for the Spider, maybe...has dealings with the Lannister family, I also heard."

"Heard?"

"Baelish is very mysterious, not a lot is known about him, not even the people who regularly attend his parties seem to know much about the man himself. Just little bits and facts."

"Parties?"

The landlord, a Mr. Kettleblack if she recalled correctly, nodded with a grin.

"Yes, did I not mention that? He hosts parties regularly, almost every weekend. Lavish and grand parties; celebrities and royalty attend. Musicians from all over the world perform...I even heard rumors of bootlegged liquor and prostitutes. Very scandalous, very outrageous. Anybody whose anybody attends at least once. I, myself had been graciously offered entrance once. Could barely stand all the noise for five minutes. I hope the noise won't be a turn off for you. You won't hear much this side of the wall, no more than a murmur."

Sansa could've said no, the noise could be a problem when it came to her writing...but the idea of living next to such an enigma, well...maybe she'd get some inspiration from her mysterious neighbor.

"I'll take it!" she said without hesitation and the papers were signed that day without even consulting her parents.

That reminded her, she promised she would come home for dinner tomorrow night to celebrate her moving out on her own. _(One last ditch attempt to convince her to comeback, no doubt, at least on her father's part.)_ She made a mental note of it as she put her car into park.

Her car (an old Dodge she had seen for sale at a used car lot) gruffled and grunted into silence as it came to a full stop in front of the little cottage. Sansa smiled. The car was black, with rusting edges, torn and worn leather seats, and a dent in the right fender. It was sturdy and grumbly; it had creaks and leaks; it had character. From the moment she saw it she had to have it, she could not and would not drive anything else. Because of its decent price and functionality, her parents agreed.

All she had for belongings was a large suitcase full of clothing, a lamp she had bought at a yard sale, a quilt made for her by her old nurse Mordane (the closest person she'd ever had to a grandmother), and a framed picture of her and her sister Arya on a beach in France. She always dreamed she'd return there with her husband or lover one day and visit that beach. Not that she even remembered what it was called. Father probably knew.

The little cottage was fully-furnished with quaint little mismatched chairs and a settee. The bedroom was small; the bed sported a slightly lumpy twin mattress, two night stands on either side of the simple metal bed frame. There was a little wardrobe in the corner for her clothes and a small writing desk next to the tiny window that let in a single shaft of sunlight.

The air was dusty in the cottage, and the ivy had overgrown over most of the windows giving the place a cozy, rustic atmosphere. The garden was to be her summer project; she already had some flower seeds in her purse that she planned to plant some time later in the week, and she wasn't even going to think about the state of the tub in the bathroom until she had to. This whole place could handle a deep scrub down.

The kitchen, though small, was also functional; a gas stove, a small little refrigerator, a closet-pantry. It would do. It's not like she planned on hosting many dinner parties or tea services.

The idea of parties caused her to drop the suitcase and box she was carrying in the middle of the living room/dining room and go outside to look at Mr. Baelish's house. She wondered if she'd ever see him, maybe just a glimpse - this mysterious enigma of a neighbor of hers.

There was no activity coming from her elusive man's house. Everything was as still and undisturbed as a ghost town. Even the lake was motionless and glassy, like a large mirror reflecting the sky.

Disappointed - in what, she did not know - Sansa returned to her home to continue her unpacking and cleaning. Her clothes were immediately hung on coat hangers and put away in the wardrobe. Her colors were very drab, mostly faint pastel blazers and lacy white dresses and frocks; dainty stockings, cream colored skirts and pale blouses. She never really cared much for ostentation, simplicity was what she liked. Simple and honest.

With a baby blue ribbon she tied her hair back and set herself to work. The floors were to be mopped; the windows to be washed; the carpets ands rugs to be shaken out and beaten; the furniture to be dusted, and all surfaces wiped. She made her bed; brand new, freshly laundered, crisp linen sheets and a lacy bedskirt topped with a thick pastel blue and lavender duvet and the quilt Mordane had made for her. The lamp and her photograph was placed on the nightstands beside.

The walls of the cottage were fairly bare, and she resolved to go out and buy some pictures or paintings to give the faint seafoam green and beige walls some life and vibrance. Her most prized possession - her typewriter (a gift from her paternal grandfather before he passed away) - was placed on the writing desk with care. Her journals were tucked into the drawer on the side. She saw the drawer required a key and found said key inside an envelope in her mailbox. Not that she had any deep secrets worth keeping under safeguard, but the idea of having her ideas and dreams hidden away like some sort of conspiracy excited her in a small, childish way. She put the little key in a small tin mint box and tucked it between her mattress and it's springs where she could easily reach it. The romanticism of it all! It made her giddy.

The day wore down into early evening. She enjoyed a simple dinner of saltines and pickled herring...her guilty pleasure - and for dessert: sweet homemade lemon cakes (her even more guilty pleasure). She ate three before forcing herself to put the lid on the tin and hide it where she couldn't easily see it.

She was sitting on her back porch overlooking the lake as the sun set behind it; a journal in her lap and a coral shawl around her shoulders to keep her warm as the air began to cool around her. She was interrupted from her distant thoughts by the sudden burst of music and laughter. She heard cars and horns; pianos and trumpets; murmurs and shouts. Before she even realized it, the docile palace beside her had come to life. Bright lights shone from the large glass windows that seemed to want to taunt the sky with their diamond-like radiance. The music started from the top of the building and radiated down into the large veranda where a splash was heard. Cheers filled the night air. Sansa decided to finish her writing inside.

An hour later the party next door to her was in full swing. Music, singing, dancing, cheering, a constant murmur of voices talking to one another. Everything she could hear from her tiny bedroom. Apparently, sleep was out of the question tonight.

Her journal had been abandoned on the nightstand as she leaned against the bedframe listening to the exciting sounds. It was almost mesmerizing to hear all the life happening beside her. _What were they celebrating? Who were all those people? Were they all Baelish's friends, coworkers, neighbors?_

Her curiosity lead her outside to the beach, standing on her little dock and staring at the grand sight beside her meager little cottage. It was a sea of bodies as far as the eye could see. People dressed in their best finery; diamonds and pearls, feathers and silks; dancing, laughing, drinking and kissing. It was an orgy of color and lights and people. It was a fascinating sight!

That's when she saw it. A green glow emanating from somewhere in the distance. It was incredibly bright and reached out from far beyond the lake. Her eye followed the glow to a figure walking out of the mass of bodies on the veranda with a calm purpose and an air of ease (only afforded to the man who must own this palatial estate). He walked right out of the party and came to stand at the end of a dock. He was dressed in an expensive black tuxedo, a silver ring glittered from his pinky finger. She couldn't quite make out his face from where she was but he seemed to have a very handsome gait about him.

 _Surely, he must be Baelish._ She could sense it in her gut.

He was staring off into the distance _(at the green light)_ ; a fog was rising off the surface of the lake and wafting around his feet, making him look all that more enchanting. The green glow bathed him in an unnatural light, making him seem otherworldly. _Who was he?_

A raucous and particularly drink-heavy guest made his way to the edge of the veranda and hollered, lifting up a sparkling glass of golden liquid. "Littlefinger!" he called. The man turned at his name. "Fantastic party!" cried the man. He was a slightly portly, red-faced, and bleary-eyed looking man. He wore a black and white tux that was stained down the front, and there was a plethora of colorful beads around his neck and several feathers from an assortment of boas clinging to his shoulders and collar.

The man called "Littlefinger" turned and his eyes met hers from where she was standing on her minuscule little pallet of a dock. Time seemed to freeze as he stared at her. His face impassive, but his eyes glinted green from the light.

"Littlefinger!" the man called again. "Come have a drink with me!" Littlefinger's gaze did not leave hers, though his mouth curled into a smile. She couldn't see anymore than the outline of his face but she could...feel his smile, like it was an invisible hand caressing her face. His head bowed to her, and she felt the need to return the gesture but didn't exactly know what it meant.

Littlefinger's gaze left her all too quickly and turned to his portly friend. "Dontos," he called the man. "My friend, I will join you up at the house." His voice was husky and smooth, like she imagined a whiskey or bourbon to be.

She craned her neck to get a look at his face but it was blotted out by all the light, and he was soon swept away into the sea of bodies again as if he had been made of water.

Sansa still stood there, shell-shocked by what she had just witnessed. That man - whoever he is - looked at her as if he knew her; had known her for her entire life. The way he seemed to look right into her...she shook it off. It was just her romantic writer's whimsy, she surmised.

The rest of the night was uneventful after that. She went back inside, made herself some tea, then sat down at her typewriter to maybe get some writing done. When nothing came to her she attempted to sleep once again, which was equally as fruitless.

 _Littlefinger...what a terribly odd name...was it his own or a nickname? What would you have to do to get a nickname like that?_

Around three, the party seemed to dwindle, she could hear the sounds of cars sputtering away, their patrons laughing and singing (off-key) into the distance.

Sansa got out of bed and once again picked up her journal and went outside to sit on one of her patio chairs. The peace and quiet after all the din of the party offered her a perfect solace to jot down some thoughts, particularly over the strange man she had seen earlier on the dock.

It was cool outside, with a comforting breeze rustling the willows that hung over her garden. With a little work she could make this place her palace, even more so than the palatial monstrosity that neighbored her. _What a large place for only one man...he must be lonely, mustn't he?_

Her eyes flitted up; there he was! Well, it seemed to be him, she couldn't tell from where she was sitting. He was standing on the end of the dock again, facing the vibrant green light; one hand neatly tucked into his trouser pocket while the other hung loosely by his side.

He was looking for something... _was a boat coming in? Was the green light a signal?_

The lights in the house had all gone out except for one at the top, leaving only the green-glowing beacon to beckon its lost souls.

Sansa found herself standing on the beach, toes in the sand, creeping ever closer to the shadowy man on the dock. She stopped when he moved; a simple shift in the balls of his feet; his hand came out of his pocket. Sansa froze. _Had he heard her?_

The man - she still couldn't make out his face in the darkness - suddenly lifted both his hands up and stretched them out in front of him, as if reaching for something far beyond him. It was an odd gesture, to say the least; it was as if he was reaching for the green light that was beckoning to him. _Was he hoping it would come to him if he opened his arms to it?_

He stood like that for a long time. Sending his yearning out across the misty lake to some unknown force. It was a beautifully strange sight and Sansa found herself glued to the spot as she watched him, not exactly sure why she was so entranced by this mysterious man.

His arms dropped after several minutes and they smoothed down over his dark suit to a pocket on his vest where he pulled out a glimmering pocket watch. She could barely make it out from where she was. The man turned and walked to where his dock met the shore, then looked up; their eyes met again, and he stopped, taking a moment to take in his audience. She couldn't see his face, only his shape, but she knew he was looking directly at her; she could feel his gaze once again. _What was it about this man?_

With a bow of his head and what she felt might've been a wink, he disappeared under the arch of his garden gate and was masked from view by the great walls that separated them.

Sansa followed him with her eyes, as his form blended into the ivy-covered coral stone and into the dark house. After a moment she saw a shadow move across the window at the top of the house and then the light switched off, leaving her bathed and chilled in moonlight.

She had just seen Mr. Baelish, she realized. She had just looked into the eyes of the enigma and he had winked back at her. _What a fascinatingly odd man!_

Sansa went to bed that night _(wee hours of the morning more like)_ with a slight smile on her face. She was definitely going to like it here, she could feel it...she was on the cusp of a great summer.


	2. Chapter 2 (Part 1)

**Chapter 2**

The drive to Winterfell was a long and dusty trip. To get there (bypassing construction and the more sketchier parts of town) you had to go through the Eyrie, an oil-stained stretch of industrial development, with low income housing (just a step above the cardboard box homes of the Eastern ghettos), and blue collar workers littering the streets like sandflies. It was practically poverty compared to the glimmering gold and crimson streets of King's Landing (the metropolitan uprising) which lay only a few miles to the south.

From the main road she could see her mother's sister's (her Aunt Lysa's) place, a brick and stone apartment building known as The Vale Apartments, set atop a demure and dingy auto garage owned by her aging Uncle Jon. She didn't much like driving past them. For the past five years her family had become rather out of touch with her mother's side of the family. Her slender, snake-y Aunt Lysa; her gruff and grizzled husband, and her prince - the most spoiled rotten little brat you'd ever have the pleasure of meeting (her cousin, Robin). She had to admit she didn't miss the awkward family gatherings, and the almost bi-polar behavior of her mother's sister since they stopped visiting frequently. Luckily, no one seemed to be home to notice her driving past.

She breathed a sigh of relief and kept going. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could escape unscathed on the drive home as well.

As she turned on to the vibrant green roads of the upper class homes of Winterfell Estates, she was bombarded by the grand mansions and extravagant signs of wealth. A little ball of wariness began to form in her gut as she drove through.

Sansa considered herself lucky not to be born into this. It was only in the past few years that her family had risen up in stature and settled into a higher class. She had been raised with an appreciation for the simple; to find beauty in the meager or homely; to take comfort in sentiment and tradition. To her, a quaint little cottage was a palace, because it was hers, because she meant to fill it with her own memories and stories. In her mind, all these extravagant homes were empty tombs without a heart in them. It was quite tragic, really.

As she pulled into the long drive of her family's estate, the growing unease in her stomach churned even further. Parked near the front steps of the red and white Georgian colonial home was her Aunt Lysa's car and another car she did not recognize. Sansa had not expected this.

Sansa parked her Dodge next to the shiny little convertible that she didn't know and sighed. The day was warm, with a light summer breeze caressing her face like an old friend greeting her. Would they notice if she hid out here the entire evening? Most likely, yes...but possibly no.

Sansa sucked in a deep breath to summon all her courage and got out of the safety of her automobile, pulling her light pink driving gloves (with a stitched rose design) off her dainty hands and tucking them in the glove box. She fixed her red hair in the side mirror, smiling at herself when she was pleased enough with her appearance. She had chosen a simple white blouse and light blue skirt ensemble for tonight's familial affair. Conservative and mature, as her mother always liked to see her.

She walked up to the front door and rang the bell, hoping to see her mother on the other side. A serving man, or butler ( _whatever you may call him)_ answered the door though and bid her entrance. She would never get used to this fancy lifestyle that her family had adopted.

The butler escorted her with an indifferent gaze to the main parlor. The house was quieter than she could stand. In truth, this was her first time visiting this particular house. It was new; the family only moved in recently while she had been staying with her friend Margaery Tyrell in High Garden - a college in the fragrant green country side where she had spent the past two years getting her education. A worthy experience of some tragic romantic tale she hoped to write one day.

Since leaving the house she grew up in five years ago her family had moved around from house to house, each one getting bigger and more extravagant than the last. This latest monstrosity was almost overwhelming in size. With large white arches; pristine columns that reached into the heavens; a grande staircase that seemingly went on forever, and bay windows that stretched from ground to sky.

The parlor, upon entrance, was almost billowing in slow motion with beautiful ivory curtains. The fabric had caught the early summer breeze through the open windows and flowed long into the room, masking the sounds of lilting laughter and clinking glass. It made the room look like it went on forever. It probably did.

"Miss Sansa, madam," announced the butler before disappearing through the door.

"Sansa!" a voice called, as if from out of a dream. Sansa took a hesitant step forward. "Sansa, is that you my sweet!" The voice called to her again.

A curtain puffed and pulled back to reveal a handsome young man standing in front of her. "You must be Sansa," he said in a low voice. He was young, not much older than her, with golden blonde hair and a warmly tanned face. His wide blue eyes shone at her. "You look a little lost, birdie." Sansa was flustered, to say the least. "Come," he offered her his hand. She took it reluctantly, not exactly knowing who this man happened to be or why he was smiling at her the way he was.

He led her further into the room where three divans were set out in a triangle formation in the centre of the room, a circular coffee table in the centre sporting sweet tea and buckets of ice. Nestled among the nest of white fabric the divans seemed to cut through the centre of the room like the parting of the Red Sea _(or White Sea in this case)_ creating a channel between the mass of fabric on each side to a set of wide open windows overlooking the terrace. On one, she could see her aunt, lounging comfortably with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in a long ebony holder in the other.

"Ah! My sweet girl!" her aunt gasped. "My how you've grown!" Lysa stood up, her knee length flapper dress with it's teasing tassels shaking as she walked up to her and kissed her cheek. "You seem to get taller every time I lay my eyes on you." Her aunt smiled in that way that always made Sansa feel a tad uneasy. "I see you've met dear Harry," Lysa grinned at the man who had escorted her in. "Did he introduce himself yet?"

"Sort of," Sansa looked over to Harry.

"Does he look familiar to you?" Lysa asked with a sly grin. Sansa squinted. _Now that she mentioned it..._

"It doesn't matter, Sansa," he waved it off with a handsome smile. "Sit, let me pour you a drink. We're making mint juleps!"

"I don't want a mint julep," another voice sounded behind the divan. "Just get me a tub and pour the ice over me, I'm boiling in my own skin." Sansa smiled, walking around the couch to see her beautiful mother, Catelyn Stark, lying dramatically on the off-white divan. "Oh! Sansa!" Cat looked up from under her fan. "I didn't hear you come in. This heat has my mind drifting all over the place." Cat got up in one graceful motion and grasped her daughter's shoulders. "You look lovely, my sweet."

"Hello mother," Sansa hugged her. It felt like it had been ages since she'd seen her mother that it was nice to be in her arms again.

"Your father is out in the stables with Uncle Jon, talking man stuff or what have you," Cat shrugged. "While we melt in this blasted heat."

"She lies, we've been having a wonderful time, isn't that right Harry?"

Harry cheered, lifting up the pair of ice tongs currently in his hand as he stood at the bar tucked into the corner that Sansa only just noticed was there. _These blasted curtains!_

"Sit next to me darling and tell me how you've been," Cat tugged Sansa on to the divan.

"Well, Margaery and I got a job as secretaries for her father's bond firm downtown. She's moving there with her fiancé, and I'll be taking the train in. We had a wonderful time at her family's vineyard last month...I only got sunburnt once."

Cat interrupted her story with an airy laugh. "Sounds wonderful, my dear. And are you all moved into that little place of yours?"

Lysa perked up. "Where are you living now, child?"

"I found this quaint little cottage in The Fingers, have you heard of it?"

"Oh, The Fingers you say," Lysa coughed then took a drag from her cigarette. "How ever can you afford it?"

"The landlord wasn't asking much for it, I think it used to be a groundskeepers cottage or something like that." Sansa stood up and went over to the window to see if she could spot her tiny home.

"I've been to the Fingers a few times, and I have never seen a little cottage," Harry remarked, coming to stand almost too close to Sansa for her liking.

"You wouldn't..." she took a step back from him. Lysa joined them, peering out to the eruption of large mansions across the candescent blue water. "Right next to the large one on the left...right...there!" Sansa pointed out her little minuscule dot of a home.

"Oh!" Harry laughed. "How quaint."

"It looks darling," Lysa said with a false smile then returned to her seat on the couch.

"I know someone who lives there," chirped Harry.

"Oh, I don't know anybody..." Sansa started to say.

"Surely you've heard of Baelish!"

Cat stiffened slightly. "Baelish?"

"A businessman I hear, though in what no one seems to know. I've heard tales of how he does business for both the Baratheon's and the Lannisters. Some people have even told me he works alongside "the Spider". There are rumors beyond that, that he deals in bootlegged liquor, or - even more so - in ladies of the night."

"Ladies of the..." Lysa started to ask.

"Whores, Lysa," Cat sighed, interrupting her sister. "Whores and pleasure mongers."

"The man holds parties every weekend. Bold, extravagant affairs! Singing, dancing, drinking! He fills the entire house with bodies and pumps them full with food and drink. Musicians, performers and magicians of every ilk are hired to entertain them. All manner of people come, the doors are open to them, no one is refused entry!"

"They aren't invited?" asked Sansa.

"No one is. I went there twice and every person I talked to there had never even seen Baelish; wouldn't even be able to pick him out of the crowd." Harry continued, enthralled.

"Have you met him?" asked Sansa.

"Me? No. Not formally anyhow, and even if I have, I wouldn't know it was him. Have you?"

Sansa's mind flashed back to seeing that dark figure standing on his dock, arms outstretched. She could still feel his gaze on her just thinking about it. "Uh..."

"I've had just about enough of this talk! Where is your father, I would like to eat before I wither away."

"I'll go see if I can find him and Jon in the garden," Harry volunteered. "Has Sansa gotten the tour of the place yet?" Sansa snapped up to look at Harry's eyes. He was grinning boyishly. He was almost too handsome. If there even was such a thing.

"There'll be time for that later, right now I am happy right where she is," Cat grasped her daughters's shoulder and pulled her into a light embrace.

Harry nodded, a hint of disappointment in his features. "Perhaps after dinner then, I can show you to the beach," Harry offered.

"Uh, sure," Sansa shrugged. Harry left with a wink and a smile, skipping out the bay doors.

"A charming young man, don't you think? Only 25, and he has all the world open for him."

"Have I met him before?" Sansa leaned close to her mother.

"Probably," scoffed Lysa.

"Let her guess for herself," Cat chided.

"I know I've seen his face, I just can't place it..."

"You have all night to think about it, for now let's talk," Cat subverted the conversation with a gentle wave of her hand. She and Lysa chatted amiably back and forth for a couple minutes about flowers... _or was it tennis?_ Sansa only half listened, her ear searching for another sound.

"Where's Arya?" she asked suddenly.

"Arya? At a friends, I suppose. Your father took them away this afternoon I didn't really pay attention to where they were going."

"And Bran?"

Cat frowned. "Where do you think Bran is?"

"Rickon?"

"In bed with a fever. Oh and your other brothers aren't coming either, but I suspect you knew that."

Sansa nodded. "A lot has happened in two years," Sansa sighed.

"Really? I feel as if nothing has changed at all. Nothing ever changes here," Cat sighed, Lysa nodded in agreement.

"And what about your Robert?" Sansa asked.

"Poor boy, got his oxygen tanks changed again, he is bedridden for the next few days or so. I didn't want to leave him but Jon insisted it would be good for my spirit," Lysa sighed dramatically. "We left him with one of our tenants. A rather simple kind of chap, bit of a skirt chaser, and I'm sure he smokes one of those weird herbs or weeds that is said to cause weird visions, or something of that sort, but he plays the guitar and sings to Robert, and Robert loves it. He's the only one I can leave him with for any decent amount of time," Lysa grasped Sansa's hand suddenly. "You should come visit us some time, we're right on the way."

"I wouldn't want to impose..."

"It would be no imposition. Robert would love to see a new face. We'd love it!"

"We'd love what?" a gruff voice sounded behind her.

Sansa turned to see her Uncle Jon standing in the doorway. A gruff man in his sixties, with hard brown eyes, and a fixed frown on his face. Sansa had never particularly enjoyed being in his company, mostly because he never seemed to enjoy being in hers. Uncle Jon was a man's man; aside from Arya, she thought he must think all girls are rather silly. She still didn't understand why he and Lysa were together. Aside from the age difference Lysa seemed to barely stand the sight of him most of the time, and he barely had the patience to stand her.

"I was just inviting Sansa here to visit our dear Robert," Lysa said warmly, patting Sansa's hand. Her gaze quickly turned to steel as she looked at Jon.

"Oh, well, I'm sure he would love the company," Jon said indifferently. Uncle Jon cared more for car engines and horse racing than he did his own wife and son.

"I've talked to the cook, dinner should be ready momentarily," another man stepped into the room, past Jon, coming up to the couch and kissing Cat on the cheek.

"Hello Sansa darling," he came up to her and kissed her on the cheek as well.

"Father," she smiled warmly, standing up to hug him proper.

"How are you, my sweet?" he gave her a quick hug, before skirting over to the bar to pour himself a whiskey.

"Fine."

"All settled in the new place?"

"As well as could be expected."

Sansa took a moment to take him in, her "father". He was tall with broad shoulders that curved into a small, toned waist. He had been a football player in his youth and he had never lost the figure, now he was a professional polo player with many "other" investments. He had long chestnut hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match, from this angle he almost looked like...

"Brandon," Cat called and he looked up from his task of pouring liquid into glass.

"Yes, my love," he answered.

"Pour me a tea, please," Cat sighed, waving her hand half-heartedly at the jug of iced tea sitting not a few meters from where she sat.

"As you wish," he smiled warmly.

Brandon Stark, her "father" was not Sansa's real father, in fact he was his brother. Eddard Stark - a well-meaning, hard-working family man of considerable means - had passed away in a severe car accident almost five years ago. Catelyn Stark, his widow, and all their children fell into financial and emotional despair, until, of course, the rich, chivalrous older brother stepped in to lend a hand. First it was help paying off a few debts, then he was joining them for dinner every night and paying for military school for both Jon and Robb (her older brothers). Then he was staying over longer, and taking Catelyn out to dances and parties, and hosting picnics with her and the younger children down at the lake. Then he moved in, her mother agreed to marry him, they were married within the week, and then they moved out to a new, larger house, and voila! It was like Eddard Stark had barely existed at all!

Sansa had watched the whole series of events with curious eyes, knowing that her Uncle had harbored feelings for her mother since they were young. "They were almost engaged," her real father had even told her once. She'd heard the story of how Brandon had fought another boy for Catelyn's hand in his youth. As a young girl Sansa had envisioned him like one of the knights in her stories of swords and chivalry, fighting some villain for his maiden's love. But joining the military had taken precedence over marrying the girl of his dreams and he left to fight in the war, and when he returned, wounded but alive, he found his younger brother and his fiancé had fallen deeply in love while he was away. It was a very romantically tragic tale in its own right, but she could see how her Uncle - in the wake of his brother's demise - would want to come back and rekindle his boyhood romance. For that she could not hate him. He was a kindly man, who cared for her mother and her siblings, despite his want to shower them in such a rich lifestyle.

If anything about Brandon that bugged her the most though, it was how he presumed to step right into the shoes of Ned Stark, as if to make them forget him entirely.

Sansa looked over at Cat, who drank her tea with a distant gaze. Her mother had never been the same since Ned had died. Despite all of Brandon's care and attention, she seemed to live off in her own world most of the time, neither being truly in despair nor truly happy, just there.

"Brandon, have you heard?" Lysa chirped up, cradling her own glass of tea.

"Heard what, Lys?"

"Your daughter here is living near to the famous Mr. Baelish?"

Brandon stopped what he was doing momentarily and looked over at Cat.

"Baelish?" he asked, his voice tight. Cat seemed to come out of her state momentarily to look warily at Brandon. "Never heard of him." Brandon went back to his task, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly.

Lysa's stare hardened slightly at the pair of them.

"You must've, it's been in all the papers."

"Oh! Is he...he's the bloke that holds all those extravagant parties, right?" Brandon took a sip of his whiskey and knocked it back.

Lysa was unamused.

"A mystery man," Cat reiterated.

"Works for the Barristers or something along those lines."

"Lannisters," Jon muttered.

"I'm starved and bored of this room, let's situate ourselves in the dining room before I mold into this couch," Cat dramatically swung to her feet in one smooth motion.

Brandon nodded and took his wife's hand, escorting her out of the room, followed by Jon and Lysa.

"May I escort you?" Harry appeared behind her. _Had he been there the entire time?_

Sansa gaped momentarily. "Uh...sure."

"You have a most intriguing family," Harry said as he led her out of the room.

"Yes, quite," Sansa nodded.

"You being the most intriguing of them all, if you don't mind me saying so," he grinned like a teasing boy.

"I'm not really," Sansa shrugged.

"You should let me drive you around some time, go to the races."

 _Races...races...Races!_

"You're Harold Hardyng!" Sansa cried suddenly. "You're the youngest man to ever win the Grand Prix! I read an article about you in the paper not a week ago."

"You've caught me," he grinned even more.

"You must be friends with my father then."

"Yes, he was the one who invited me tonight... I am a fan of his, he is an amazing polo player."

"I know."

"We met at a mutual friend's gathering and we got along like that!" Harry snapped his fingers.

"So are you just visiting for a race, or..."

Harry's grin widened just a touch more. "He wanted me to come here tonight...to meet you," he leaned in slightly too close for her. "I think he thinks you and I might have something in common."

"And that is?"

"I am an avid poetry reader."

"Are you?"

"Yes, and you write beautiful poetry so I'm told. I'd like to read some of your poems, if you'd let me."

"Uhh." Sansa blushed slightly.

"Think about it," he smiled as he led her into the dining room and pulled out her chair for her.

Her mother was seated at one end of the table, fanning herself, her father at the other, still nursing his drink and talking idly with Jon who sat beside him. Lysa sat next to Jon but was looking down at her lap, contemplating something deep and only known to her. "Why candles?" Cat muttered, fanning the the little flame in front of her until it snuffed out.


	3. Chapter 2 (Part 2)

The meal was awkward to say the least, at least in Sansa's mind. The conversation was jilted, separated between Lysa's gossip, Harry's flattery, Uncle Jon's mildly racist comments, her father's business talk and the odd random comment from her mother. Sansa could barely stand to sit at the table, instead burying her focus in her fish as if she'd never seen something so interesting. She was reminded of why she moved out in the first place.

Since her real father died her family felt disconnected; her oldest brother Jon ( _her half brother to be specific)_ left before Eddard's death to go to military school. Cat and Jon had never gotten along, mostly, _(she felt)_ , because of Jon being the product of a very poor decision on Ned's part during their first year of marriage, a mistake he went to great lengths never to repeat. Cat treated Jon no better than a stray dog she wanted no part in caring for. Her second oldest brother Robb, left to join Jon when Uncle Brandon started becoming a permanent fixture around the house. He ultimately didn't approve of his Uncle marrying his mother after only six months of grieving for his dead father. Sansa couldn't say she agreed or disagreed.

For the longest while after her father's passing her mother was in a dreadful state, could barely leave the bed and would hardly eat more than a bite or two, if that. If it hadn't been for Brandon the family would've gone bankrupt and desolate.

Her younger sister Arya was never around anymore, too busy with extra-curricular activities, such as dance. Her little brother Bran was crippled a few years ago from falling off the roof of their childhood home and breaking his back and barely made an appearance out of his room if he could help it. And the youngest Rickon...he was spoilt, a good natured but rather precocious little child with a slight temper and lacking social graces.

Sansa herself felt the need to explore more outside her home. She needed the space to think, to feel like herself. All this finery was a bit above her head. The butlers, the cooks, the maids...she never needed this, she preferred doing things on her own. This ostentatious lifestyle was nothing like the childhood she'd had with Ned, nothing was like that anymore. Not even her own mother.

Depression had exhausted Cat, grief had made her complacent, and Brandon made her dream of being the young girl she had used to be when she was beautiful and he had loved her. All this had made her a shadow of the mother she was when Ned was alive. She was barely a mother now, more like a ghost of one, wafting in and out of this world and another. In truth, Sansa sometimes felt like Cat was another person entirely nowadays.

Suddenly, Cat's hand reached over to her and grasped hers, a warm, but distant smile on her face.

"So, what do you think?" she asked in a low voice. Brandon had engaged the rest of the table in a conversation about the recent book - on the dangers of poverty on the economy and how the rich "white" male should be a model for the other classes - that he was reading. "Enlightening" he referred to it. It was nothing more than a piece of paranoid penny-pincher propaganda. Written for men to justify men's stupidity. Sansa was glad for the distraction.

"The fish is excellent," Sansa nodded.

"Not the food, silly girl," Cat laughed. "Harry." She lowered her voice another decibel.

"Harry?" Sansa peered over at the blonde man seated only inches next to her. "Uh...he seems nice."

"I was hoping you'd like him, he gets along with your father quite well," Cat murmured.

Sansa sighed internally. Of course her mother was trying to set her up with some rich, famous car racer. It was like Cat was scared of her being alone with her thoughts for too long. Sansa had always had to be the perfectly sociably acceptable daughter. Arya could play with her brothers in the mud, or sword fight with the neighbor kids, but pretty little Sansa had to be pink and dainty and learn to sew and darn socks and host tea services. Arya could run away with the circus if she liked but Sansa was groomed to become a lady of means. At least, since Ned died anyway. Ned had encouraged her to be a writer, and pursue her creative passion. It took hours of convincing for Sansa to even get Cat and Brandon to allow her to go to High Garden with Margeary. She thought she had gotten through to them, apparently she wasn't as successful as she thought.

he immediately began to feel ill at the sight of him. _Was this whole evening a set up?_

"Are you two gossiping about me?" Harry turned to them with a sickly sweet smile.

"Just admiring your career," Sansa said cooly.

"My career you say?"

"Yes, quite a feat for someone so young to win the Grand Prix," Lysa chirped in, as if sensing Sansa's discomfort.

"Just skill and a dash of luck," Harry shrugged, as if it meant nothing.

Brandon laughed whole-heartedly, grasping his belly and throwing his head back slightly. The food he was chewing only slightly falling out of his mouth. Uncle Jon made a slightly amused "heh" sound.

"A dash of luck! Ha!" Brandon chortled. "Ahh, that's a good one."

Sansa gave a weak smile "Yes."

"And what about you Sansa? I hear you're an educated woman?" Harry grinned at her.

"I went to school in High Garden."

"For what?"

"Business."

"Heh," Harry half-laughed, trying to smother his amusement. "And how did that work out for you?"

"Excellent," Sansa said defiantly. "I got a job working for Tyrell Bonds and Litigation."

"Really?" Harry almost seemed impressed.

"As a secretary," Brandon added.

"Ah." Sansa glowered at Brandon. "Must be decent pay," shrugged Harry, trying to be polite. Sansa glared at him as well.

"It's enough for me," she said tightly.

"So, I can assume marriage and children are not high on your priorities, are they?"

"No."

"They didn't use to be," commented Brandon. "Our little bird here was almost engaged once."

"Was she now?" Harry teased.

Sansa's eyes widened in horror. "Uh, no, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were, I remember it clear as day. Joff, Jeff...Joffrey! That's it! You were practically head over heels for the little fellow."

"You're mistaken..."

Joffrey, as his name was, was the worst decision she believed she had ever made in her young life. He was some pre-law trust fund snot, who had charmed her off her feet the moment she had stepped foot into High Garden. The relationship was brief but the rumors had spread like wildfire. He was now engaged to her best friend and was best left un-thought about.

"Look at her," Brandon teased mercilessly. "See how she blushes. Have you ever seen something so adorable?" He grinned with a playful fatherly pride as he shoveled another mouthful into his maw.

"It brings out her freckles," Harry agreed, teasing her. Sansa gripped the edge of her chair tightly, her nails biting into the polished wood.

"Stop it, Brandon! You're embarrassing the poor girl," Cat interjected.

 _You are all embarrassing me._

"This is highly inappropriate for the dinner table. I had merely suggested to Sansa that she should attend one of Harry's races," Cat skirted around the issue artfully, like she always does.

"Marvelous! Nothing like seeing a man in action," Brandon nodded.

"I couldn't agree more, but I would wait for one of my bigger races towards the end of the summer, right now all I'm doing are little bunny races against amateurs to keep my skills sharp."

"Well then, perhaps we could all go to the horse derby," suggested Brandon.

"Now there is an idea!" nodded Jon.

The conversation was cut off by the butler entering and making a polite "ahem" to Brandon. He leant in and whispered a few words to him and all the warmth in Brandon's face seemed to drop momentarily. "Uh, excuse me for just a moment," he smiled falsely, and brought the napkin from his lap to wipe his chin and dropped it unceremoniously on his place setting. Sansa could sense the tension in his shoulders as he got up and quickly marched out of the room. Cat's eyes followed him with almost an icy coldness in their deep blue depths. She turned to Sansa and smiled, cupping her cheek with a warm hand.

"Look at my daughter, Harry, doesn't she...doesn't she remind you of a - of a rose?" Cat smiled warmly at her, fingering Sansa's long red hair. "An absolute rose."

Harry's eyes twinkled slightly as he chuckled and nodded. Sansa nearly scoffed; she didn't really feel like much of a rose, she often felt more like a bird, a caged song bird or little blue bird trapped behind a pane of glass trying to break through into the wild. Though she didn't say a word in response to her mother's sudden affections, truly, the warmth and love in her gaze reminded Sansa of the mother she had in her childhood, and she would do nothing to squelch it out.

In the blink of an eye Cat drifted away again, lurching to her feet and dropping her napkin on the table beside her plate. "Excuse me." She said tersely through a false geniality as she walked briskly out of the dining room, following Brandon out. The whole event felt odd to Sansa. She looked awkwardly around to the rest of the dinner guests, sipping awkwardly at their iced tea, their ears only subtly tilted towards the open door. You could just hear, coming from the parlor, their hosts talking. The words were muddled, and the voices were low, but even Sansa could tell they were having an argument over whatever had drawn Brandon from the table.

"So...Harry, this Baelish fellow you mentioned earlier, I believe he is my neighbor..."

"Shh, child!" Lysa hissed. "I want to hear this."

"Hear what? What's happening?" A clang of a phone was heard from the other room.

"Oh, I suppose you don't know, do you?" Lysa eyed Sansa with what almost seemed a look of pity.

"Lysa..." Jon warned lowly. Lysa met his gaze with a cool one of her own and then bit her lip, averting her eyes down to her plate, then back up to Sansa's.

"Never you mind, child."

As if on cue, her parents waltzed back in as if they had simply stepped out for a smoke. Cat smiling and waving her fan, if only a little bit more intensely than before.

"Ah, this heat, it can't be helped!" Cat attempted to break the obvious tension in the room. "I was just looking outside, you should see the view Sansa." Cat's hand came up to rest over top hers on the table. "The sun is just setting under the horizon. It's simply stunning. Very romantic. Don't you think so Harry?" Sansa tried not to glower at Cat's none-too-subtle suggestion, and felt her ears grow hot from the humiliation of it all.

"Sansa..." Lysa stood up suddenly. "I need some fresh air, would you like to join me out on the veranda?" Sansa did not hesitate to take her up on her offer, launching to her feet as well and practically speed-walking out of the room, keeping her head down low as to not catch any of their faces. Lysa followed leisurely and closed the bay doors behind them as they stepped into the cool evening air.

"Thank you Aunt Lysa."

"Please, just call me Lysa, you're not a girl anymore," Lysa bit slightly, crossing her frail arms against the wind.

"Thank you...Lysa. For getting me out of there."

Lysa instantly softened and placed a hand comfortingly on the girl's arm. "Oh, I know what it's like - to be pawned off to the highest bidder because of fear you'll never make it on the merits of your own dreams -your own wishes." Lysa stared off, her head turning towards the lake. Sansa saw it then, a green gleam. From the end of the her family's dock she could see the bright beacon sending it's beckoning green light out to the wandering souls who yearned for it. ( _So this is the source of it.)_ Lysa seemed to be drawn to it as well. "I never wanted to marry him, you know," Lysa continued. Sansa didn't have to ask who she meant, she knew. "There was someone else." The green light seemed to catch in Lysa's eyes as she spoke. "He was sweet, and kind. He used to give us flowers, and play little games with us. He made me feel beautiful," Lysa's hand came up to lightly caress her stomach in some fond remembrance. "The sweetest smiles, the sweetest kisses. Dreams beyond anything I could ever imagine. He gave her his heart and I gave him my..." she trailed off, her hand dropping back to her side. "And they destroyed him."

"Who did?" Sansa finally asked.

"All of them," she hissed. "They destroyed him and forced me to marry that...man." Lysa turned away from the green light and smiled warmly again. "It was a long time ago," she waved it off. "All I meant is...I understand what it feels like to have no one understand your dreams." Lysa leaned over and kissed her cheek. This was the closest she'd ever felt with her strange aunt, it was if she had peeled back the edge of the curtain, and showed her a peek of what lay behind it. "I've become very cynical these days," Lysa sighed. "Makes me long for simpler happier times." Sansa lifted her arms and gently hugged her dear aunt. Lysa's arms came around her in response, her hands coming to rest on Sansa's shoulders. The hug was amiable - kind, and sympathetic - the first real moment Sansa thought she had ever shared with the woman.

As quickly as this moment had come, so it went, and the woman's grip on her shoulders tightened around her almost threateningly. "Did I ever tell you about when I was pregnant with Robert?" Lysa hissed into Sansa's ear.

Sansa squirmed uncomfortingly. "N-no."

"The doctor told me he was going to be a girl. I was going to have a beautiful, healthy girl. And do you know what I did when he told me that?" Sansa shook her head. "I wept. I turned my head and wept and said "I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she is a fool, a beautiful little fool." Sansa felt a fear trembling in her gut and she debated calling out for help. "That's really the best thing for a girl, you know. Prancing around like there isn't a thought in her head, all pretty and bouncy and delicate. Not cynical or sophisticated. God Sansa, you and I are sophisticated! And look at us!" Lysa released Sansa and pushed her away, going back to staring out at the green light. "You should really come and visit Robert, he would love to see you." Lysa said after a moment, the biting tone of her last sentence suddenly gone.

"I-I will."

"He just turned ten, did I tell you that? Ten years." Lysa turned her face to her and smiled warmly once again. "When did life start going by so fast?" Sansa shrugged, not able to find words to say to this woman. "Maybe later, once you've settled," Lysa patted her arm comfortingly.

Sansa nodded. Lysa sighed. "I'm tired, I think it's time for us to go home and return to Robert." With that, the woman turned and went inside, calling to her husband to get the car started.

Sansa sucked in a breath of relief. It wasn't right of her to be so negative about her own family, especially her poor aunt. Her mother had even said it herself, Aunt Lysa never had the chance to make the life she wanted for herself. Sansa just never understood how deep it truly went. She knew her maternal grandfather was a hard man with great expectations. Cat had been expected to marry someone of means and some sort of standing, like Brandon or even Ned. Lysa, was probably under the same scrutiny. Maybe she could've at one point...maybe Jon was the only one who would have her. Sansa had never met her grandfather and was almost grateful for it.

The green beacon caught her eye once more. She could still feel the invisible hand of her mysterious neighbor's gaze. So strong for something so brief...and practically in the shadows too. She could not tell you the color of his eyes, but she could describe in picture perfect detail what it felt like to be watched by them. It was something she had never experienced with anyone in her life ever.

When she left the veranda and went back inside, Brandon, Harry and Cat were still seated at the table. Cat smiled airily at her.

"Sansa, my dear would you like some coffee?" she offered.

"Uh, no, I should really be heading home now, it's getting late."

Cat seemed to deflate a little at that. "Shame. Bran will be sorry he missed you."

"I'll come back to visit him later, when he's feeling better," Sansa nodded.

"It's too late Sansa, why not sleep here, you can borrow Arya's room," Brandon chimed in.

"Is she at a sleepover?"

"Camp...summer camp," Brandon said unblinkingly, his expression unreadable.

"So soon?" Cat sighed airily. "I thought that wasn't for another few weeks."

"It was today," Brandon nodded sternly.

"Oh my...did I say goodbye?"

Sansa felt a slight anger burn in the back of her mind. This was the kind of mother Cat had become, and it was a far cry from the mother she used to be. To not even realize what was going on with her own children.

"I'll be fine, it's not that long of a drive anyway," Sansa said politely.

"Let Harry take you, I'll have Brandon drive the Dodge to you tomorrow," Cat insisted. The thought of spending more time with Harry at this particular moment made Sansa feel a little queasy.

"No, it's alright. Not worth the trouble, I'm sure Harry would like to go home as well."

"Oh, he's staying with us for the summer, your father insisted," Cat grinned, taking her daughters arm. "We have him set up in the guest room. I'm intending for the two of you to spend a lot of time together." Sansa felt her ears get hot again.

"The moment your mother met Harry she was determined to set the two of you up," Brandon, clapped Harry's back.

"You won't even know I'm doing it," Cat seemed to giggle. "I've planned all these subtle little ways for you to spend some time together."

"Short of pushing you into a closet and locking the door," Brandon chuckled. Sansa burned with embarrassment.

"Harry, will you walk her out?" asked Cat, smiling sweetly, before kissing Sansa on the cheek. "Goodnight darling, please visit again soon, this house is drab without your life in it."

"Goodnight sweetheart," Brandon gave her a hug and kissed the side of her head. Sansa quickly turned and left, having no more words left to say to them. Harry followed after her, quietly amused.

As she reached the front steps she sucked in a deep breath and let out a groan, burying her face in her hands. Harry chuckled. "I'm sorry," he came up beside her. "They're quite invasive aren't they?"

"You have no idea," Sansa sighed.

"Well don't worry," he smiled, leaning in. "I don't plan on getting married either." He whispered conspiratorially. Sansa met his eyes. "I'm sorry for the teasing," he smirked. "It must've felt a little embarrassing...and you do look very sweet when you blush." Sansa just eyed him warily, not saying or moving or anything. "But, if it makes you feel better, I do want to get to know you better...I really do like poetry," he held out his hand for her. "If you want to make a new friend...get your parents off your back, who knows...it could be fun."

Sansa smirked slightly, hesitantly reaching out her hand to grasp his. "Friends?"

Harry nodded. "Just friends, maybe partners in crime." He winked. "We'll see." The wink he gave her reminded her of her neighbor on the dock the night before who had winked at her in almost a similar fashion. Something about Harry made her trust him...a little. Sansa bowed her head in silent agreement.

"Till next we meet," Harry took her hand and kissed the knuckles. "Sansa."

With that he disappeared back inside, leaving Sansa standing stunned on the front step. There was more to Harry than she initially thought, perhaps she had found an ally in her quest to get out of the reach of her parents control...or maybe he was more trickier than she gave him credit for. Sansa decided not to put Harry in any category until she got to know him better.

After regaining her composure Sansa descended the steps and got into the driver's seat of her dodge. It was now or never if she ever wanted to make her retreat from this strange place.


	4. Chapter 2 (Part 3)

The drive home was quiet as Sansa mulled over the events that had transpired that evening.

First off her mother...she was like a phantom; floating from one thought to the other, never truly taking form, forever in a corporeal state of being. Then there was her father being depressed...by a book no less. It wasn't that Brandon Stark was illiterate or anything but he was a jock, a man's man, the newspaper was his favorite form of fiction, the sports pages his Bible. The idea of him sitting and reading a book of ideas...social and economic ideas no less! - something must be troubling him on another level, she figured.

Then there was Aunt Lysa. Sansa still couldn't shake the chills that, that woman had ran down her spine. Her aunt had always been a little sporadic, at least emotionally. She had the ability to go from completely calm to outrageously virile, to calm again in the span of seconds. It was more disconcerting than anything. Sansa could still hear her biting hiss in her ear, the words she had said, as clouded as they were. What did she mean by all that?

And of course, lastly, there was Harry. He was charming, seemingly kind, playful, possibly intelligent. There was so much he could be, not a whole lot that he was, or at least, what she knew to be him for certain. He could almost be an enigma, if he wasn't so...boyish.

Sansa turned her Dodge around the corner heading into the Eyrie. So named because the industrial work houses and sweatshops that painted its landscape lent an air of hazy creepiness to the stretch of oil marked desert. At least at night. With King's Landing glittering in the distance like a diamond in the sand of the horizon; the lights and promises of dreams to come emanating from the Fingers to the West; and the quiet complacency of wealth and comfort of Winterfell behind her - the Eyrie felt like a ghost town of poverty and lechery stewing in its own miserable squalor in the middle of it all. It was caged in, protected almost by the wealth and grandeur that surrounded it. Protected by it, but not affected by it.

Sansa kept her head down low and her foot on the pedal. This was not a place you wanted to drive around too slowly at this time of night. Drunkards and thieves; lowlives and ne'er-do-wells crept in the shadows. A lone lady with a haunting red dress lingered at one lamp post, a knee expose and dangling out to attract wary eyes to its source. Sansa liked to pretend she wasn't who she was, just another woman, standing on the street, looking for a change of fate to take her far away from here. That didn't stop a twinge in her gut when she saw a car come along and stop before the woman.

 _What other kind of creatures lurked in these parts at this hour?_

Sansa turned down another street. She could see The Vale, Lysa's home, coming into view just up the road. The main house was a rickety looking contraption of stone and mortar, it looked like a shrunken down castle perched precariously on top of a greasy car garage, with two gas pumps in front of it, and attached to the hip with a dingy little apartment complex that looked liked it harbored the most ambiguous of souls, maybe a criminal or two. Lysa's income came from playing landlady while Jon's came from fixing up, buying and reselling old beaten cars. The whole place was surrounded by a large stone border with a metal gate, isolating what little decrepit world lay inside from the dusty, dingy, dark little world that surrounded the outside. The only thing Sansa could say that was truly interesting about the place was the strangely ornate gate that held as barrier from one world to the next. It was made of colored glass and gilded steel, almost like a stained glass window, though not quite as elaborate. The image set in the black metal was that of a moon and star. The moon gate. The few times that Sansa has ever visited her Aunt's home in her life, she was always captivated by the simple image set against bleak stone and grey concrete. The diamond in the ruff, or something like that.

Sansa slowed her car down as she drove past the eerie building, her eye going up to the single light on at the top of the house, shining above the smog of the industrial factories that surrounded it.

For the first time looking at this dreary place, Sansa was suddenly hit with a feeling of pity. Or maybe it was understanding. Ned had talked about Lysa as being a girl of many dreams, very few which became reality. Sansa never understood what he meant until now.

A shadow flickered across the window and Sansa saw her, just a glimpse, wearing a pale green robe as she unpinned her long wavy hair in front of a worn vanity. From where she was, it almost looked like Lysa was a young girl again, delicately combing her hair and humming a wordless song to herself. Letting her mind wander to more sweeter times.

" _I never wanted to marry him, you know."_

Sansa felt something stir in her gut as she heard a trashcan lid bang and joggle on to its base. Her uncle Jon had stepped out of the house to take out the garbage and have a smoke, Sansa could just see his tall lanky frame leaning against the side of the house; the red glow of the cigarette smoldering like a little star in the stark darkness.

There was more to her estranged family than she had first thought, and it suddenly put their sullen existence into a new light. Maybe Lysa was caged away in this miserable place. Maybe Sansa had more in common with her strange aunt than she realized.

Before she could be spotted by either of them Sansa turned her car back on to the road and continued driving. It was getting darker, and if she didn't pay attention she could very well miss her turn to get to the Fingers. Luckily, there was enough light emanating from the mansion beside her home to act like a guide in the darkness. Cars of screaming, singing, caterwauling party-goers streamed past her. Waving noise-makers and flags, throwing beads and flowers as if it was gold or confetti. Sansa was almost relieved to see the crowd dissipating at this time, she was much too tired to stay up late again tonight; the peace and quiet would be welcomed.

Sansa mentally calculated her evening in her head. Maybe she'd have a bath, relax her muscles, journal, make some tea, water her garden, and by the time she was done with all that the party would have gone down enough to allow her to get some rest. She liked this plan; it was a good plan...that is, until she got closer to her home. Despite the flurry of vehicles and their patrons that she had passed on the way here, the party was still in full swing, with even more people than the night before celebrating inside.

Her dreams of an early sleep dashed, Sansa decided to continue with the plan she had made. If she drank a bit more tea than usual, and relaxed her muscles very well, she could exhaust herself into sleep and the noise won't even bother her. That was the hope, anyway.

The bath was full and hot, and she even put in a dab of lavender oil to ease her nerves, but not even all that seemed to be able to unclench her muscles. The tea didn't do much either. She drank almost four cups, went to the washroom five times, and by the fifth cup she gave up, tossing the rest of the water in the sink. In her nightwear and slippers she walked out into the cool evening, her skin flush from the tea, and exhaled, breathing in the smell of the sea. Watering her garden actually managed to relax her a bit. She spent all of this morning gardening and had managed to plant some flower bulbs and herb seeds before she had to depart for the family dinner from hell.

When she was done with her plants she grabbed her journal and went to sit outside on the bench she had put near the edge of the shoreline, so she could enjoy the sound of the waves, and feel the sand between her toes. She didn't get far into her journal when she happened to look up, and then she saw him.

Standing at the edge of his dock again, one hand in his pocket, the other fingering his pocket watch by his side.

The green light from across the lake was focused on his silhouette, bathing him in an ethereal glow, making him look otherworldly. Sansa stood up, leaving her journal on the bench as she walked closer to him. Mr. Baelish. She almost wanted to call out to him, get his attention. They were neighbors now, it wasn't wholly inappropriate. Maybe he could tell her why she felt so drawn to him. Maybe, if she saw the man, talked to him, some of his mystery would wear off and he would stop haunting her thoughts.

She had almost opened her mouth to speak but the sound died in her throat when she saw his arms move, and stretch out before him, once again. Reaching for the green light.

Was it for the light? Or was it for what the light represented? Was it at the light at all? So many questions raced through her mind as she stared at him.

A cat, a stray of some sort, pounced from the ivy wall separating Baelish's home from her to the top of her tin garden shed, resulting in a loud resounding clang, jarring Sansa out of her mesmerization. The cat mewled mockingly, as if teasing her, then skittered off to chase a mouse.

When Sansa looked back at the dock Littlefinger had gone, as if he had dissipated into the fog.

Sansa shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling chilled and more than a little unnerved. She turned around quickly, and darted back inside, leaving her journal on the bench where she had placed it.

That night she lay in bed contemplating all of the day's events. Between her Aunt's bizarre behavior, the weird message that had sent her father out of the dining room, her mother forgetting about Arya going to summer camp, Harry making an agreement with her, and her neighbor being...well Littlefinger as far as she was concerned - Sansa suddenly felt very alone. All alone in the unquiet darkness, surrounded by enigmas.


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The day smelt foul. Like ashes, and burnt hair. It made Sansa wrinkle her nose as they passed through the dust bowl valley that was The Eyrie.

"Can you try not to look so sullen?" Brandon's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. It was times like these he almost seemed to channel her real father. His voice would soften and nearly match the quiet kindness of Ned Stark, but his eyes always belied the true Stark inside. He was Brandon, through and through.

"I'm not sullen," Sansa sighed.

"Look Sans, I know the idea of spending the afternoon with your Aunt Lysa is probably not the most ideal..." _Ideal it was certainly not._ "...but your Aunt has been begging you to come visit for weeks now. To spend some time with your ailing cousin. The more you avoid her, the more she's going to think you - "

"I'm not avoiding her!" Sansa cried. "I've been busy. Work has me swamped." In truth she had been avoiding this dreaded visit. In no measurable way could it be pleasant. Her aunt's high strung emotions, her Uncle's brusque manner, and her cousin's spoiled nature were not generally pleasant company, especially trapped all together in one house for an entire afternoon.

"Well, then it's lucky I just so happened to be driving out that way to visit Uncle Jon, then, isn't it?" teased Brandon.

"Yes, lucky," Sansa sighed.

"Would you have preferred taking the train?" He teased in a fatherly manner.

"No...driving is fine," Sansa tried to smile. It only made Brandon chuckle.

"You're a horrible liar, sweetheart," he clucked his tongue at her and she scowled at him.

"Did Mom put you up to this?"

"What would ever give you that impression?" he shrugged innocently.

"Why would Mom insist I visit my estranged cousin when she herself can't be bothered to leave the house?" Sansa eyed him warily.

"Maybe she thinks that you will benefit from Lysa's business experience. She does run an apartment complex."

Sansa fixed him with an incredulous stare. Did he really think that would work? Whatever - it wasn't funny.

"You're a horrible liar, father," she mocked.

Brandon chuckled. "Honestly, Lysa has been requesting you to visit for weeks now. When I called yesterday to talk to your Uncle Jon about meeting with him today, Lysa snatched the phone out of his hand and ordered as prettily as she could for me to drag you along as well."

"I could've been busy."

"It's Sunday."

"So that automatically means I have nothing to do?"

"Nothing that can't wait to be done until later. Besides, there's some lovely people that occupy the building you might actually enjoy meeting."

"Like who?"

"Marillion is about your age. Lysa says he is quite a charming fellow."

"I have enough men Mom is trying to set me up with, I don't need another," Sansa sighed.

"Come now. Harry is a charming chap," Brandon teased.

"You know, don't you!" Sansa sat up in her seat in an accusatory manner.

"Know what, sweetling?" he grinned.

"You know that Harry has no interest in being my suitor, and yet you teased me mercilessly about it," Sansa swapped his thick shoulder with the back of her hand.

"Your mother was dead serious," Brandon tried to say sternly.

"That's besides the point! It was all a joke to you and Harry, and you couldn't help but play along! What the hell is wrong with this family!" Sansa sat back, flailing her hands wildly. "And you just had to bring up Joffrey, like that isn't an embarrassment in and of itself, but why not bring it up for the whole world to know! Let's just take out an article in the Crow! "Sansa Stark almost married a Jerk!", what a headline that would make!"

Brandon was almost in tears by this point and nearly steered into a passing vehicle from how hard he was laughing. "I'm sorry!" he managed to say through his laughter. "But you should've seen your face, sweetie. All beet red and angry. Kind of like it is now."

"And mother wonders why I don't want to get married," Sansa sighed, crossing her arms.

"Trust me, sweetheart, once Harry has left by September she'll have forgotten about it completely. You'll just have to suffer until then."

The car slowed to idling as the bridge over the river connecting East to West was raised to let a passing barge in underneath. Brandon turned to Sansa and smiled, fatherly. "There is also someone I would like you to meet, I think you'll like her," he patted Sansa's arm. "For real."

Just like that Sansa cooled off from her tirade. Brandon was being genuine; his genuine warmth was hard to stay mad at. It was the one thing about him that put him closest to Ned, at least in her eyes. "All right," she conceded, nodding her head.

The trip was relatively calm after that. As the bridge lowered and they entered into the ashy realms of the Eyrie. The ash here was farmed like wheat, and stockpiled, and grew by the thousands to create ridges, mountains and hills. The ashes formed into houses and buildings, chimneys and smoke; and finally -with a transcending effort - into the people of the Eyrie itself. The further you went in the harder it became to distinguish ash from flesh.

Rising above the multitude of ash-beings, like a tower - was a billboard, well worn, and aged much like the ash formations around it. The image on the board may have once belonged to some sort of eye doctor, or something of the like, but due to years of wear, dust and rain; fading paint, and some young hoodlums with a certain artistic prowess, the billboard turned from a comfortable image of a large set of blue eyes staring unblinkingly above the ashy smoke below, to that of a three-eyed crow, with red, daunting and fearful irises that watched over its ashy flock like a vulture. The words: "He Knows" written in red underneath. Who "he" was and what knowledge he seemingly possessed were about as vague and cryptic as tarot cards. The original meaning was lost with whoever had painted the image, but the unnerving aspect of it all, that could not be shaken.

Right underneath that sign, sitting a top the rest of the Eyrie like a castle in its kingdom was her Aunt's apartment building. The Vale. The Queen of Ash presiding over the city of ashes. The closer you came to the building the less castle-like it became, as you realized it was just the largest building in the whole valley. From the farthest point though, you could see the strange architectural phenomenon that was the Vale Apartments. On the roof, the stone and cement seemed to coil and swoop, as if made with clay, into the shape of a crescent moon and star overtop an archway - a doorway to nowhere - the moon door, as it was called by some of the local folk who had nothing better to do than make up fantastical stories for the little ash children that played in the streets. Below the puzzling conundrum of the roof design was the grey and yellow brick and wood structure that was, altogether, a strange mishmash of architectural design. The main house sat atop a small two-bay garage and spiraled upwards like a lopsided turret. Attached to that was a square block three floors tall that connected to the east wall of the house then curved away slightly and formed into a triangle. It was a confusing building to look at from any angle.

God, Sansa loathed this place.

The car pulled up and stopped in front of the yellow-grey building. Brandon stepped out first, firmly readjusting his jacket and smoothing the wrinkles out of his navy suit pants. Sansa did not move so quickly, instead taking the time to look up at the glittering moon gate that served as entrance to this less-than-fantastical castle.

It still smelt foul.

"You can't stay in there forever," Brandon teased.

"I won't," Sansa sighed. "I'm just...bracing myself for...you know..."

"I know," Brandon nodded.

"What are the chances that today is one of the days they're..."

"Normal?" Brandon finished for her. That wasn't exactly what she meant but she shrugged anyways. Close enough.

"Fat chance," Brandon smirked.

Sansa sighed again. "I had a feeling you'd say that." She finally got out of the car. She momentarily regretted wearing a light cream blouse and pink skirt that day. She should've worn chain mail, or at least something a little stain-resistant, if she remembered anything about her spoiled little cousin correctly.

"You look fine," Brandon tried to assure her. Instead of protesting she just sighed once more, bucking up her courage.

The grounds of the complex were desolate, unsurprisingly. Filled with a menagerie of run down cars and tire piles and the odd engine and displaced car part. The yard also featured a rusted old swing set, an assortment of cigarette butts, and Sansa's personally favorite, a stuffed falcon that had sat out for too many rainy days. It was like a graveyard for automobiles, minus the one or two that actually seemed to be in working condition.

 _"Restoration Projects"_ as Uncle Jon liked to call his little metal collection. _"I shall have a fleet one day."_

Sansa looked around at her Uncle's "fleet". Very impressive...for a junk man.

"Has Uncle Jon actually ever completed a car?" Sansa said out loud as they walked through the yard.

"At least one or two."

"Hasn't he been doing this his entire life?"

Brandon chuckled at that. "Not all. He was a soldier in the war, just like I was."

"I see."

"Jon's a simple man of simple pleasures."

Sansa nodded, her eyes darting up to the top window where she knew her aunt resided.

"Indeed."

"Come."

Brandon led her around the front of the of the building to the garage that was attached to an open road leading to the main stretch of roadway that delved further into the ash paradise of the Eyrie. Inside it was sparse, unprosperous, much like the metal graveyard surrounding it. In the corner, half-covered by a dusty old canvas was a load of scrap metal that Sansa thought used to be a Ford. The whole place smelt like car oil, hopelessness and dust bunnies.

The more romantic part of Sansa seemed to suggest that all of this (the garage and yard) belied some sort of grandiose interior. A renovated hotel out of some romantic fiction with deep crimson velvet colors and gold crowning. It would smell of the old world, of glamour and ballrooms, cigar smoke and faintly of daisies and forget-me-nots. The exterior was merely a blind, a trick to sway unwanted tenants from entering into this sacred order, nestled in the valley of ashes.

Her Uncle coughed, dragging Sansa from her whimsical thoughts. He was leaning against the door to what looked to be his office, or some manifestation of one, anyways. He was wiping his left hand on a filthy rag, (unsure whether it was cleaning the mess or causing it) and staring at the pair of them with his opulent ice blue eyes.

"Jon!" Brandon greeted warmly. "How are you old man?"

Jon shrugged with a gruff "hmpf", tucking his rag back into his breast pocket. Jon Arryn was tall and wiry looking, his shoulders were broad and permanently hunched forward from years of bending over car engines. His face was narrow and pulled down, making him always look like he was scowling, or in any case displeased. His hair had once been blonde, and he may have once been handsome, but time and cynicism had worn down both to a dull grey.

"Can't complain," he muttered. "You finally here to sell me that old car of yours?"

 _Car? What old car?_

"I'm having my guy look at it and I should have it to you by the end of next week," Brandon said easily.

"Your guy is taking his sweet time," Jon said humorlessly.

"These things do take time," Brandon chuckled good-naturedly.

"I know, I know," Jon waved him off.

"If it's a problem I could just take it somewhere else," Brandon said teasingly, but it did not stop Jon from bristling ever-so-slightly. "No. No. Don't - don't be like that. You know what I meant, Bran."

Brandon chuckled once again. "I know. I'm just teasing ya."

Jon's gaze finally seemed to find Sansa. "Ello Sansa," he greeted, however coldly.

"Hello, uh, Uncle."

"Jon, please," he huffed. "I've always felt uncomfortable with the moniker "Uncle", sounds old and distant."

 _Then it is a perfect name for you._

"Eh, Jon!" A voice rang through the hollow garage, like a sweet bell. "Your wife would like to know if you want turkey or egg on your - oh!"

As if from another world, a beauteous creature had emerged - off auburn hair (closer to brown than to red), effortless grace, pendulum hips, and sumptuous curves from calf to collarbone. Even the dust seemed to part for her as she walked into the room.

"I didn't realize you had company."

"Ros," Jon acknowledged. "You know my brother-in-law Brandon."

"I never forget a face," she smiled at him.

"And my niece, Sansa."

"Oh my! She is pretty." Ros turned to Sansa and began walking closer to her, completely dominating the young girl's vision. "I'm Ros," a graceful porcelain hand reached forth to shake hers. "I live here. I'm practically the help." Her eyes twinkled.

"We pay you," huffed Jon.

"Yes and in return I answer calls, I cook, I clean, I wash, I even help run your little business," she leaned in closer to Sansa. "In short: I'm not being paid enough." Sansa tried to suppress a smirk. She liked this woman whoever she was. "Lysa's expecting you I believe," she turned to Brandon. "She and Sweetrobin have been making a fuss all morning trying to get the place ready for tea time."

"Why don't you take Sansa in while Jon and I discuss...uh, man stuff."

"Oh yes, cars and cocks, very interesting candor," Ros winked with an effortless smile. "I'm sure I can find something to entertain this little bird with." Ros took Sansa by the hand and began leading her to the small stairwell that led to the main house.

"You have twenty minutes before Lysa calls the dogs, I suggest you get yourselves washed up before tea," Ros called down to the two men. "Don't make me have to come back down here, I assure you, it will not be pretty."

Brandon chuckled and waved in acknowledgement. "I doubt it!"

Jon shrugged, disinterested.

Sansa turned her attention back to the beautiful woman. "Come on, let's get out to the balcony and have a light," she grinned mischievously and dragged Sansa through the halls of the less-than-illustrious home. Sansa was only slightly disappointed to see it was as grim and lifeless as the exterior.

A hidden stairwell took them to a narrow corridor, that led to a rickety ladder, that led to a small balcony hidden by the walls of the apartment complex. It was no bigger than the inside of an elevator and just as wide. Two unwatered plants sat dead in the corners, and a gaudy iron railing outlined its borders. It was quiet though, and shaded against the fierce summer sun. In that aspect it was a nice hide-out.

"You looked like you could use a breather," Ros smiled at Sansa, pulling a pack of Camels and a lighter from her bodice. "You smoke?" Sansa shook her head. "Wanna go?"

"Uh, no...thank you."

Ros shrugged and lit herself one. "So tell me Sansa," Ros leant against the railing, blowing out a plume of smoke. "What's a pretty bird like you doing here in the Eyrie?"

Sansa felt a little flustered by the question. "Uh, visiting, I guess."

"Mrs. Arryn's your aunt, right?"

"She is my mother's sister, yes."

"And your mother is married to Brandy, ain't she?"

Sansa had almost guffawed at Ros' nickname for her father. "Yes, he is my step-father."

"Step-father, you say?" his woman had a remarkable way of making her want to tell her everything, despite the fact that she probably didn't need to know it.

"Yes. Brandon was my real father's brother. He died about five years ago."

"So he's your uncle-father?" Ros said blankly. Sansa nodded. "Sounds complicated."

Sansa laughed. "Well when you put it like that it does sound a bit...screwy."

Ros shrugged. "Who am I to judge? Just curious. I've never seen any of Lysa's family come here before, 'crept for Brandy, of course. I just wanted to be sure I got all my facts right."

"My family is...all over the place, so..."

Ros smiled at her, making Sansa trail off. "Ugh! Will you just relax, little bird? I'm not interrogating you!" Ros laughed handing her the cigarette. "Please! Take a drag before your head explodes." Sansa hesitantly took the cigarette from the woman's hand, bringing it up to her lips cautiously then taking a tentative puff of it before throwing herself into a fit of coughs. Ros laughed and took the cigarette from her, her other hand coming to run smoothing circles on Sansa's back. "Shhh," she cooed, soothingly. "Your father has told me a lot about you Sansa. I think he wants us to be friends."

Sansa stopped coughing. "Are you and he friends?"

"We chat from time to time. Whenever he's around."

"Oh."

"Brandy's a good fella, seems to care a lot about you and your mother." The woman's expression seemed to fade slightly as she snuffed her cigarette out on the black metal grating before tossing the butt into one of the neglected flower pots.

"I'm sure he does," Sansa watched the woman warily. She didn't really know what to think about this woman and her "interest" in her family.

"Has he said anything about me to you?" Ros's gaze flitted up and Sansa swallowed a dry lump. Thankfully she was saved from answering by the shrill shriek of her aunt.

"Ros!"

"Ah. Hiding's over. Now the party begins." Ros once again grabbed Sansa's arm. "I would like us to be friends, Sansa, if you'd let me."

"Uh..."

"Think about it...if you should ever need to talk. You know where I am." With that Ros ducked inside and back down the ladder.

Why was the world suddenly obsessed with Sansa having a friend? She had friends! Granted, she rarely saw them because they all lived in the city - her best friend especially she had to avoid due to her current fiancé being...well someone worth avoiding. That didn't mean that Sansa was going to die decrepit and alone in that little cabin. Quite the opposite. Since she has moved there her social life had been booming. She was well-liked at work; favored by the boss _(she was the only one who knew how to fix his morning espresso just the way he liked)_. Her work days were filled with people; talking to people, listening to people, going out to lunch with people. The constant stream of people was endless. Then it came to night, when she would be walking home from the train - she'd met all sorts of wandering souls during the brief walk it took to get from the station to her quaint cottage. Drifters, drunks, old lady's and their dogs, old men looking for their cats, young kids who thought they were cool. She had seen them all. It wasn't as if she lived in a box, just because she wasn't going on with somebody. Then there was the parties next door that she was swiftly becoming used to. The living murmur that thrived next door from ten-thirty to two a.m was almost a being in itself that she was growing to find comfort in. Life lived next door to her. Vivacious and voracious life, abound in its sinful pleasures and celebrating in it's glittering finery.

And then there was Mr. Baelish. Or Littlefinger...she didn't know which name suited him best. She hadn't seen him since that one one night, weeks ago when she had returned from that disastrous family dinner party _(in her mind)_ and came out to see him on his dock. This didn't stop her from continually coming out to check for him, each night - just in case.

Maybe she did need someone to talk to...someone like Ros.

Sansa descended the ladder, move through the corridor and back down the narrow staircase to the main area of the house, following the voices into the living area. A tea service had been laid out on three circular coffee table pushed into the centre of the room with two or three dining room chairs set around it.

Brandon and Jon had made their way up to the house from the garage and were chatting idly about "man stuff" in the corner, while - through a pair of swinging doors - other voices could be heard. She recognized Ros's voice, and another which she didn't, and the unmistakeable shrill of her Aunt Lysa emanating from what supposedly was a kitchen.

Sansa eyed the tea service set in front of her. There were plates of sandwiches, tiny ones, and cakes, and cookies, and Sansa's personal favorite: lemon tarts. It was a family recipe, her mother had it and apparently so did Lysa. Her stomach growled a tiny bit with want at the sumptuous little mounds of lemon filling topped with fresh whipped cream. It would be rude to snatch one up and eat it greedily - the tea party had yet to begin - but she would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about it.

The doors to the kitchen swung open and Lysa came out holding two more trays of food.

"Ah! Sansa, my dear! There you are!" she cried happily.

Sansa smiled and waved awkwardly. "Lysa, it's good to see you."

"Auntie Lysa, darling. No need to be so formal." Lysa placed the tray on the table and outstretched her arms towards Sansa. "Come, give us a kiss."

Sansa hesitantly stepped forward and kissed her Aunt on the cheek. Lysa embraced her fully, hugging her tightly. "I'm so happy for you to be in my house! Look! The room is brighter because of you, even as we speak. Please sit!" Lysa smiled warmly for a second before her eyes went strikingly cold once again, as she looked over to her husband. "Jon!"

He turned from Brandon to meet her eyes with an impassive gaze. "Yes?"

"Get some chairs, won't you, so somebody might sit down," she bit sarcastically and Jon bristled at her tone.

"As you wish," he said tightly, exiting through a door.

"Men," Lysa hissed.

Ros and a young man - looked to be only slightly younger than herself ( _surely he couldn't be Robert!)_ \- came out of the kitchen holding a punch bowl and ladle.

"Ah! Sansa! You've met Ros, haven't you?"

"Y-yes, I have."

"She is the last scrap of sanity I have in this place," Lysa sighed and then turned to the young man beside Ros. "And this is one of our young tennants, Marillion."

Ah, the guitar wielding weed-smoker - how could she forget?

"Nice to meet you," Sansa curtsied slightly, force of habit.

"The pleasure is all mine," Marillion stepped up and took Sansa's hand, kissing it.

"Marry here comes from a long line of gypsies, isn't that right?" Ros supplemented.

"Indeed, both my mother and my father were nomadic gypsies, traveling from town to town dancing and playing music for coin. It's the family trade."

 _(Ah, so he's also a bit of a charlatan, good to know!)_

"Have your parents retired?" Sansa asked.

"Sadly, they are no longer with us," he kissed a pendant hanging around his neck, lifted his hand up to the heavens, and then placed it over his heart in a dramatic fashion, all without a hint of sincerity.

"I am sad to hear..."

"No matter! Mrs. Lysa takes good care of me."

"And he in turn looks after my Robert," Lysa smiled warmly. Jon entered carrying two more dining room chairs and situated them in the circle. Lysa met him with a displeased frown.

"I'm going to go have a smoke, care to join me, Bran?"

"Jon, we're just about to start tea, must you..."

"Start without me," he muttered. "I need some air." Lysa huffed and eyed Brandon with a look of daggers.

"I think I'll stay, Jon," Brandon said carefully. Jon nodded and left without another word. Ros and Marillion carried on as if nothing had happened.

"One lump or two," Ros asked, holding out a cup for Sansa.

"Two, please."

"A sandwich for you? Turkey or Egg salad?" Marillion held out a small plate. Sansa suddenly felt overwhelmed by choices.

"Turkey...and a lemon tart! - if you don't mind," she said sheepishly. Marillion smiled and looked at her for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"You're adorable when you blush," he said, handing the plate over to her.

 _Oh not again!_

"Thank you."

"Marry, sit down, this is not a buffet," Lysa ordered.

Brandon made his way to the circle and sat down to the right of Sansa, Ros to her left, and Lysa straight across.

"Is Robert not joining us?" Sansa asked.

Lysa gave her a downtrodden look. "Unfortunately, no. He over-exerted himself today trying to help me set up for the party. He built up a fever and had a bit of a fit, but he is resting right now and may feel better enough to visit with us later. He's so delicate, my Sweetrobin."

"Some would say that is a result from being raised by an overbearing parent, particularly the mother," Brandon said none-too-subtly.

Lysa tensed at the accusation. "Is it overbearing to love your child?"

"No, but it is to love them so much you refuse to let go of them."

Lysa scoffed. "You know nothing about it, Brandon. You don't have any natural children."

The words were like acid being spat between the two and Sansa wanted to sink right into her cup. Brandon tensed but gratefully held his tongue and the conversation switched once again. To more pleasant topics, like the weather, or a plane crash. Anything other than the deeply sensitive area of anything actually personally related to someone in the room.

Marillion, with all his sense, pulled out his guitar and began to strum lightly from his chair. Uncle Jon never returned from his reprieve and Sansa was all the more grateful for it. This tea party was awkward enough without Lysa shooting him icy glances every few minutes.

Ros leaned over with a smile. "You look as if you need something stronger," she said teasingly. With a conspiratorial smile she shot up to her feet. "Sansa and I are going to go to the ladie's room!" she announced to the room, hauling Sansa to standing next to her. "We'll be back!" Ros giggled and tugged Sansa behind her and out of the room, leading her to a hall that was connected to a flight of stairs. "Come, the elevator is broken," Ros pushed Sansa up the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Sansa asked, her feet moving anyways.

"Upstairs, to my apartment. That tea party was an absolute drag!" Ros laughed freely.

"But Aunt Lysa..."

"Won't know we've gone for that long," Ros smiled, tugging more so on Sansa's hand. "I've got a bottle of whiskey under my bed," Ros giggled once again.

Sansa halted in her steps. "What?"

"Okay, you caught me, I actually have two," Ros lifted her arms up in surrender. "I'm sure with a bit of cola we can polish them both off."

Sansa wanted to protest the potential of being caught with two bottles of bootlegged liquor, but found the words died on her tongue, and then there was no room for protest.

Sansa had only ever been drunk twice in her young life time and that afternoon was the second. Lying on Ros's plush feather bed, surrounded by a twinkling red canopy that gave a hazy glow to the rest of the place. Ros was smoking by the window and playing soft jazz on a record. Sansa felt stripped, laid bare in the tiny room. This was not exactly how she pictured this day going.

Ros swayed to the music gently as she stamped her cigarette out in the ash tray and waltzed over to the bed, collapsing beside her in a flurry of laughed, freely.

"Aunt Lysa's going to kill us," she snorted, bringing up a hand to cover her face.

"Lysa will forgive us - your father wanted me to show you a good time," Ros leaned over and nuzzled her neck playfully.

"My father?" Sansa blinked.

"Mmmhmmm...Brandy," Ros murmured. "Nice guy...thinks you'll benefit from my experience."

"Your experience?"

"I'm very experienced," Ros nodded and laughed, her hand coming down to Sansa's collar. "In lots of things," she continued. "Like the clarinet...and tennis..." As she spoke she began to deftly undo the buttons on Sansa's shirt, until the opening was wide enough to slip her hand underneath and cup Sansa's breast. Sansa breathed. Too drunk too fully register what was going on. "...and other things. I could teach you, if you wanted."

Sansa's swallowed dryly and smacked her lips. Her eyes felt bleary and unfocused in the dim hazy light.

"Ros..." Sansa murmured. "Are you a whore?"

That made Ros back off, though not insulted, more or less surprised by Sansa's brazen comment. She laughed and poured another glass of whiskey and placed it into Sansa's hand. "Drink up, little bird," Ros said softly and smiled. Sansa laughed and mumbled, tossing the liquid back.

A knock came from the door and Ros looked up. "Stay here," she whispered. "I'll be back in a moment." With that Ros disappeared.

Sansa, for some reason, sat up, blinking at the room around her. _Why was she here?_ Why did she let this alluring woman drag her up here to her room, put a glass in her hand, and get so absolutely spit-faced like this. It was most unlike Sansa. She prided herself on being sensible - but the heat, and the day, and the company had made her lose all sense.

Sansa dropped the glass in her hand to the floor and struggled to get up to her feet. On shaky legs and wavering balance she managed to find a small little bathroom tucked in the corner of the bedroom. It had a sink which was all she needed. In a matter of minutes she was able to down a fountain's worth of water and felt some of her sense come back to her. Enough to make her walk a little straighter and see a little better. Though she was still drunk, she at least now wasn't dehydrated and her body wasn't going to hate her completely later.

That's when she heard a giggle coming from the room just outside the bedroom. The living area or what have you, Sansa couldn't remember it was all a blur.

Ros was laughing, but it was being muffled by another sound. _What was Ros doing?_

Sansa crept towards the door, feeling the need to be discreet about this. It was a feeling - in the air - whatever was going on outside this room Sansa wasn't supposed to see.

The door was opened, just a crack, allowing her a small field of vision. Ros was pouring yet another glass of whiskey. (How many bottles did she have?) She was speaking, the words were unintelligible, but their meaning was unmistakable - she was seducing. Who? Sansa only had one guess.

Brandon Stark - her step father - her uncle, suddenly appeared behind the buxom brunette and kissed her hotly on the back of her neck. His hands gripped the fabric at her hips, fisting it in his large hands.

"I want to see you," he whispered lowly _(not low enough)_.

"Sansa's in the other room," Ros hushed.

"I ought to punish you," he hissed lustfully. Sansa felt weird watching her "father" in such a state.

"Really?" Ros teased, turning in his arms.

"You've been a naughty one, Ros?"

"Have I been?"

"You've been dialing numbers that you shouldn't be dialing."

Ros laughed. "Oh that! Ha! I could've easily been calling for Madame Lysa," Ros clucked her tongue.

"But you weren't."

"But I could've been."

"My wife was there."

"Your wife barely notices what happens beyond her cute little nose."

"She's had it rough."

Ros scoffed. "She lives in a palace with a prince and not a single worry in her pretty head."

"She's a little broken."

"Broken is an understatement."

"Listen Ros!" Brandon hissed. "Don't do it again, please. She doesn't - she doesn't need to know about this, she's happier when she doesn't have to think about things like this."

"Why don't you leave her?" Ros's smile dropped. "You're clearly miserable with her, why not leave her? Pack a bag, go with me. We can leave all of this. The Eyrie, this house, these people. What's stopping us?"

"It's not that simple Ros."

"Why the hell not?!" Ros barked and Brandon gripped her by the jaw, fiercely.

"Because it is!" He released her, remorseful. "I-I can't just leave, they'd be destitute. Cat would wither away and no one would be there to look after those kids - my brother's kids."

"So, divorce her but give her enough money to take care of the little brats until they can make a living for themselves."

"Ros!" Brandon hissed again, then softened. "Look, you're my girl, my ray of sunshine in these bleak times. Come here." He kissed her fully. "I will make this work," he muttered to her.

In an instant all admiration and what kindling of friendship she may have had with the woman melted and turned to a quiet loathing. In an almost sobering anger, Sansa pushed the door open and let it collide against the wall, splitting the two apart.

Brandon smiled. "Sweetheart."

"Father," Sansa said evenly, her face not betraying what she had seen. She was seemingly drunk, after all.

"My! What did you do to her, Ros?" Brandon remarked jokingly.

"Two bottles of whiskey and some smooth jazz."

Brandon chuckled. "You are a bad influence Ros. Come here, sweetheart."

Sansa took shaky steps towards her father, not really knowing what to feel about him at this particular moment. Anger, yes - she had just seen him fornicating _(cheating)_ on her mother; the woman who was supposedly his young lost love, the girl he had fought for, had waited for, and longed for, for so many years. Granted, she was barely the woman she was five years ago, let alone the girl she used to be. For that she felt some sympathy for him. When he loved her she was whole and vibrant, when he got her she was broken and lost. Through his love for her and maybe a sense of duty to his younger brother, he had raised this family from the depths of despair. Maybe Ros was his way of coping with his loss...or compensation for it. But even so, he must know how much it would incense her mother. Ned had made one mistake the entirety of their marriage, the details of which were not fully disclosed to anyone, not even Brandon - the result being her oldest brother Jon. Cat had never completely forgiven him for that one slight and he had gone to great lengths to never repeat it again. Cat had loved Ned so much it was the worst thing he could've done. Now Brandon, though she wasn't quite sure how much her mother actually felt for him, if she caught him cheating on her...Sansa feared her reaction.

Sansa suddenly thought back to the dinner party weeks ago when Brandon had received a message and Cat had stormed out after him. Suddenly a realization came to light. It was Ros who had called.

"Sansa, let me take you downstairs, to Aunt Lysa, she'll take care of you," Brandon gently grabbed her arm and began leading her out of the room.

Sansa's eyes trailed back to Ros and fixed her with a pointed stare. The camaraderie she had built with this woman over the last few hours burnt like a bridge with that one look. Ros could feel it and so could Sansa. Sansa would not be the one to tell Cat though, it wasn't her place, and truly this family needed Brandon if it was going to survive. But Sansa wanted nothing more to do with this woman.

She was led downstairs back into the arms of her Aunt, who cooed and fawned over her. "Oh, my poor girl. What has that hussy done to you?"

Sansa didn't feel much like speaking...or feeling for that matter. So she let Lysa lay her down on the divan in a small alcove in the back of the parlor and give her water and a cold rag. She didn't know how long she lay there, as she dozed in and out of consciousness for awhile. When she came to there was a light haziness in the air, the kind that accompanies the late afternoon - early evening. The effect of the whiskey had dissipated mostly, she only felt slightly light-headed, and a tiny bit drained from the experience. Numb, you could say, though from the whiskey or the recent revelations she could not tell.


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Voices wafted in from further in the room. There was other people in the living room, seated around the coffee tables. Other tenants, she surmised. Sansa sat up on the divan to get a better look at her Aunt's company. She listened and looked for a good long while, watching a myriad of different souls drift in and out of Lysa's house.

There was a wiry man whose looks reminded her a bit of a Schnauzer. He had curly untrimmed whiskers framing a dour and tired looking face. He would come and go aimlessly every once and a while - always doing something. Another man, a Mr. Korbray - a slightly effeminate man in manner, who gestured with his hands fancifully, and wore a deep burgundy smoking jacket with sparkling cuff links - reclined heavily on the couch with a cup of tea in his hand. He was always (if not, nearby) on the arm of one particular woman, a widow, Mrs. Waynwood.

Waynwood was a willowy woman, with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, and all black attire. (Still in mourning over her dead husband). She drank her tea like a lady born and bred and rarely smiled. She sat closely to Korbray, not inappropriately close, but respectively at his side, enjoying a small plate of biscuits. She would occasionally hand him the plate to take a sip of her tea and he would hold it for her until she was ready to receive it once again.

From where Sansa sat she could hear Lysa and Mrs. Waynwood chittering away, though not one of them seemed to acknowledge her presence in the back corner of the room. Apparently Mr. Korbray was a photographer of some fame in King's Landing.

"I have two famous collections," he gloated. "One I call Godswood-in-the-breeze. And the other I call Godswood-in-the-snow."

"Winter and Summer. How clever," Mrs Waynwood simpered. She was a very handsome lady, if a little like a school marm.

"Yes, they did quite well in the gallery at Flea Bottom."

"Oh Korbray! You should make a photo study of our dear landlady. Look at her features!"

"Oh please!" Lysa waved dismissively.

"I'm serious. High cheekbones and a strong nose. You look practically regal!"

"You think so?" Lysa laughed, awkwardly _(unnervingly)._

"What do you think, Mr. Korbray?"

He seemed to actually consider her for a moment. "With the right lighting...it could be interesting."

"Enough of this silly talk!" Lysa blushed. "I'm much too old now to become a model. You should've seen me when I was young." Lysa swooped to her feet and grabbed an old photo album off a shelf. Blowing away the dust and cracking it open, thumbing through the pictures till she found one she liked. "There. Look at me."

"The composition is terrible," Mr. Korbray muttered.

"Never mind the condition of the photograph! Do you see what I mean? I could've been a model then. I could've been anything. I was pretty and smart back then. Now I'm just...sophisticated."

"Whose the other girl in the photo?"

"My sister. Terribly fat wasn't she?"

"A little on the plump side."

"Father was always making her exercise to keep fit. He practically banned any sweets from the house because she would gorge herself on them."

Sansa sat up and stumbled to her feet, wanting to see her mother. No one paid her any mind.

"She has a good facial structure," said Mr. Korbray, adding, "For a child."

"I like this one," Mrs. Waynwood pointed to another photograph in the album. "Is this little fellow your brother?"

"No," Lysa warmed suddenly. "That was a childhood friend. The sweetest boy that ever lived. We were practically raised together. He lived next door to us, and we were always playing games, sharing secrets."

"He is very handsome."

"Isn't he? I should've married him," Lysa sighed sadly.

Sansa got close enough to catch a glimpse of the photograph of the little boy Lysa so fondly remembered. No one had noticed her yet. The boy though - he was a sweet looking child of nine or ten, with dark hair and dark eyes, smiling in a black and white photo with a glimmering lake as it's backdrop and the naked shoulder of a young girl at his side just out of frame. _(So, he was the one Lysa had mentioned earlier.)_

"Why didn't you?" asked Mrs. Waynwood.

"My father," Lysa seethed. "Said he wasn't good enough for me. Said I should marry someone strong and upright. Someone who could provide well for me, who knew something about breeding. So I did. And he's not even fit to lick my boots!"

"Why do you stay with Jon if you loathe him so much?" Korbray sniffed and brushed crumbs from the lapel of his smoking jacket.

"I'm a mother, I have to think about my Robert, above everything else. If I were to leave Jon I'd be thrown out of house and home. Robert too, knowing Jon's sense of fatherly affection. Even if he didn't cast out my Sweetrobin, he would be neglected - abused! I couldn't let that happen. All I can hope for is that he'll develop the cancer from those blasted smokes he inhales every other hour, and his heart will stop."

Waynwood let out a shocked gasp. Mr. Korbray chuckled. "Better than dear old Brandon. Trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman he loathes," he muttered. Sansa's nostrils flared.

"He doesn't loathe her," Lysa defended. "My sister is ill...in the heart."

"Or in the head, I'm told," Mr. Korbray smirked.

Lysa swatted him, her eye catching Sansa's in her peripheral. "Oh my dear," she smiled falsely. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Sansa said flatly.

"Have you met my niece, Sansa?" Lysa said carefully to her companions.

"Niece?" Waynwood fluttered. Korbray choked slightly on a sip of his tea, spluttering and coughing, while trying to get a good look at Sansa.

Shortly after that Mr. Korbray and Mrs. Waynwood excused themselves to go for a walk to fetch some ice at the small little convenience down the road. Leaving Sansa alone with her Aunt looking at the photo album with great interest.

"You look just like her," Lysa said as a compliment. Her words couldn't help be tinged with something darker and more cynical. _(Didn't she just say her mother was fat?)_

"Thanks."

"Would you like a lemon tart?"

"I'm not hungry."

"I'm sorry, this afternoon has been so horrible for you," Lysa sighed.

"It has been an...enlightening experience."

Lysa laughed. "Enlightening, indeed."

"How long?" Sansa asked.

"Hmm?" Lysa looked up at her, not understanding the question.

"How long has Brandon been seeing her?"

Lysa tensed. "Oh. Her. Um...about a month, maybe two. They met shortly after Ros moved in. He was over here doing business with Jon, she brought them lemonade. That's when they met. I don't know when they started...carrying on with each other."

"And you let it happen?" Sansa's tone was almost accusatory.

Lysa looked at her with pity. "I could've told Cat...and have her crumble into despair once again. I could've confirmed all her fears weeks ago, when she started to suspect...but that is all they are to her, right now; fears. She knows there is a lady that keeps calling for Brandon. She knows he disappears some times for a few nights with no explanation, and she knows he is spending money on something more than investments. What she doesn't need to know, is that she's right."

Sansa nodded, she understood, oddly enough. That was why no one told Cat. But why all the sudden was this information being thrust on to her shoulders. "Did Brandon bring me here for me to...give him my blessing?" Sansa thumbed a page over. Her eyes met with the little boy that Lysa talked so fondly about.

"I don't think you finding out was his exact intention," Lysa said coldly. "Though foolish none-the-less. That man can't help but cavort out in the open where anyone can see him. It's no wonder Cat suspects. Everyone around her knows and darts their eyes from her when there is a crack in their mask."

Lysa suddenly smiled and laughed. "Here I am, being cynical again. I think I'm going to go check on Robert."

With that Lysa swiftly left the room. Sansa was alone once again. Her thoughts drifting left to drift back to the photo in front of her.

There was something about the boys eyes that felt eerily familiar.

A sound from another room startled her and she jumped, her eyes darting up and scanning the room. _(Must've been a cat or something.)_ Sansa shrugged it off when she heard noises coming from all around her. There was music coming from some room, far off in the distance. A slow, pulsing jazz, the lyrics blurred and no more than wavering sounds. Below her she could hear Jon clanging metal upon metal as he pried a fender from its chassis. Footsteps creaked and groaned across the floor from all directions. A bird fluttered and flapped its wings from the top of the house. And rising above all the din was the beating pulse in a room above; a bed creaking with the weight; a corner pushing against the wall. Sansa refused to give it a name; she knew what was happening all around her but she refused to give any of it a name. To name it would mean to accept it as reality. Sansa wasn't sure she wanted any of this to be real. At this moment, it was a hazy and confusing dream; not quite a nightmare, more like one of those dreams that belies some sort of deeper meaning though it is never quite clear.

Sansa looked back down at the photo album. The child-Cat's teasing, innocent smile was mocking her - as if to signify Sansa's own loss of innocence. She was now apart of a conspiracy ( _Brandon's conspiracy_ ). Lysa smiled prettily beside her sister in the photograph ( _another innocence lost_ ) and below them, there he was. The nameless boy, a pure smile of seamless joy on his face as he sits beside the young Cat on a rock by the river. In his hands Sansa could just make out the glint of a silver pin, shaped like a - like a bird. A peacock? No. A mockingbird!

Something loud banged above her and caused Sansa to jump. Brought hastily back to reality, she looked around to check if anyone was watching her. On an impulse, she pulled the picture from it's slot in the album and tucked it into the hem of her skirt, right underneath the band of her underwear. She gently closed the album and rested it on the table.

The sound of thunder drew her to the window. It amazed her how the weather could change so swiftly; from balmy and warm to brisk and rain-swept, especially in the summer. Sansa always liked the rain, there was something calming about it, as if it could wash away all the melancholies of the day...especially this day.

"Feeling well, Miss Sansa?"

Sansa jumped, startled; her head spinning to find Marillion standing in the doorway. _(How long had he been there for? He couldn't have been there long.)_ "Uh...yes...a little, I think," she tried to smile but her face felt tight all of the sudden.

"You looked mighty pale, I thought maybe you'd been poisoned."

The word poison did not sit well in her stomach at the moment. "I'm fine."

"I'm glad," he smiled. He took a step towards her. Sansa recoiled, her hand coming up to the place where she had tucked her aunt's picture, almost protectively. "I'm sorry, do I frighten you?"

"Sorry," Sansa let out a held breath. "I'm a little out of it...since earlier."

"I heard," he chuckled.

"Of course you did," Sansa sighed.

Marillion took another step closer to her; too close. "You are truly a beautiful creature, Sansa," he whispered, rapturously. "Since I met you earlier this afternoon I have not been able to get you out of my mind. Your eyes beg to have songs written about them."

Sansa felt instantly uncomfortable at his words. "Th-thank you?" she said uneasily, shifting from him slightly.

"I've spent the last few hours trying to write a song for you, several songs actually. A lay for your eyes, a ballad for your hair, a duet to your breasts...don't worry, I won't sing them for you...they weren't very good anyways. There are no words that can do your beauty justice."

Sansa eyed the young man warily. "You barely know me."

"That should tell you how beautiful you are, one look was all it took," he reached for her hands. Sansa felt like making space between them. His eyes were dark, darker than usual, his shaggy dark hair almost hooding them in the fading light as the sun hid behind a cloud.

"I can sing to you in other ways," he whispered huskily, a hand ghosting to her hip. What was it with her today? Did the universe just wake up this morning and decide to set its sights on her? "Oh there's little Sansa Stark, she seems perfectly happy today, let's shake up her life in a mere couple of hours!" _(Thanks universe, thank you so much!)_

Sansa instantly reviled the young singer's advance.

"Let me sing to you with my body," he grasped on even harder, trying to trap Sansa against the wall.

"Uhh," Sansa gaped, stunned by his brazenness. She suddenly slapped his hand at her thigh. "Unhand me!"

"I could take you places you've never ever been!"

 _(Like you're bedroom?)_

Sansa swatted him again, this time stinging his hand.

"Ooh, you're feisty," he growled.

"I don't know what kind of girl you think I am..."

"I would like to find out," Marillion grinned toothily.

"But would you kindly let me go, please," Sansa sighed, trying to lengthen her spine and stand tall and rigid, to look authoritative.

"Are you a virgin?" Marillion asked incredulously.

Sansa went flush and her ears started to grow hot. "What?"

"Oh my god, you are!" He seemed to be spurring himself on without her help. "Oh please, Sansa, let me be your first. I can teach you so much. I can give you the greatest gift!"

 _Was he already writing a new song about her maidenhood?_

Sansa shook her head and tried to push the virile little singer out of her way.

"Let me go or I will scream...you'll have to answer to my father - or my Aunt Lysa, your landlady," Sansa tried to threaten. Marillion just laughed.

"Sansa, your aunt adores me and thinks of me as a sweet little gypsy prince. She would never believe you. I'm her son's favorite person in the world!"

Sansa hardened her gaze at him. "She is still my aunt," she hissed.

"You hold yourself in higher esteem than she does," he whispered back with an arrogant smile.

Sansa had no more bluffs left to give, and briefly thought about kicking him in a rather sensitive area as he once again tried to grope her against the wall, when a cough echoed through the room and split the two apart. The man, the one that reminded her of a Schnauzer was standing in the door way, staring hard at the young singer. Marillion warily backed off a step.

"Do you mind?" he hissed at the man.

"I think the lady asked you to leave," the man said in a gruff voice.

"What do you know?" Marillion sniffed, arrogantly.

"I know she certainly doesn't want you the way you think she does," the man chuckled. He was holding a mop and bucket, as if he were some kind of janitor or maintenance man for the building. He stepped forward, into the room cautiously.

"I think you should mind your own business old man," Marillion huffed, crossing his arms.

"And I think.." the man pulled out a small switchblade from his utility belt and used it to casually cut a loose thread from the curtain beside Marillion, skillfully letting his hand drop, nicking Marillion's arm in the process. "...you should respect a lady's wishes."

Marillion cried out and grabbed his arm. "You cut me!"

"Accident," the man shrugged. "Ain't that right, missy?"

Sansa nodded, a coy smile dawning her face. "That's what I saw."

Marillion stood shocked between the pair of them, his self-misconception that he was some kind of Adonnis quickly fading into the reality of his failure. With a look of contempt he weaseled out of the room, still clutching his barely bleeding forearm.

Sansa almost snorted when he had left the room. "Thank you," she turned to her rescuer.

"The little shit had it coming," the man shrugged. "Got into Lady Lysa's good graces and now thinks he can get away with murder."

He held up his knife that glistened with a small streak of the singer's yellow blood.

"God's don't bleed," he muttered with a slight smile peeking through his scruffy face. He stepped up to Sansa, and leant near to her ear. "Someone's looking out for ya, sweetling," he whispered to her, then began to trudge out of the room with his mop and bucket.

"Wait! Who are you?"

"I'm just the janitor," his long face curled up in a friendly smile then dropped down into a dour scowl once again, then he disappeared.

Sansa felt down for the photo in her skirt and pulled it out again. The boy smiling back at her was almost reassuring. "Is it you?" she wondered. "Are you the one looking out for me?"

Before she could get her answer the room was disrupted by some yelling coming from beyond the kitchen. She turned her head to the sound. It was Lysa. She was arguing with somebody, perhaps Uncle Jon? Lysa's voice got louder, and Sansa realized she was shouting - heatedly berating someone in the other room.

"Under my roof!..." Sansa could only catch bits and pieces of what Lysa was saying as she was pacing from one side of the room to the other. "...Sansa in the next room...cavorting with that whore!"

"Don't call her that!"

She recognized that other voice, all too well.

"This has gone on long enough! I can not abide by it any longer, Bran! Not when you don't even have the basic decency to restrain yourself in front of your own daughter. What would Ned say?"

"Ned's not here," Brandon said in a menacing tone.

"Of course he's not! If he was then he'd be at home...with Catelyn!"

"Don't say that!" Brandon hissed. "Don't - don't ever say his name in front of me again."

"This is my house!" Lysa gasped, aghast. "I can say whatever I damn well please. Eddard!"

The next few seconds all seemed to happen in slow motion to Sansa ~ Mrs. Waynwood and Mr. Korbray entered from the other side of the room, carrying ice and talking intimately with each other, stopping when their eyes fell upon Sansa ~ Sansa stood up and looked at them then looked at the door ~ Ros burst into the room, her hair and bright kimono askew. She was flushed and flustered.

"Brandon?" she gasped, searching for him wildly.

"Eddard Stark! Eddard Stark!" Lysa shouted repeatedly.

The resounding hit radiated through the door to the kitchen into the living room, like a visible wave, striking each one in its path; stunning them. A thump. Lysa was down. A blood-curdling shriek emanated, catching everybody's breath with an invisible hand, snatching it from their lungs.

Brandon pushed the door open and stepped into the living room, cool as ice. He was met with blinking shock to his audience. The door swung open, revealing Lysa to be crumpled in a heap on the floor of the kitchen, blood pouring out of her nose where Brandon had struck her.

"Oh my god, Lysa!" cried Mrs. Waynwood.

"Brandon!" Ros chastised, rushing past him him to the wailing woman.

"You brute!" hissed Waynwood as she clutched a towel to Lysa's nose. "You absolute brute! What did she ever do to you!"

Sansa just stood there in bewildered shock. Mr. Korbray sniffed derisively, his fingers twitching with disgust at the scene. Sansa's eyes met Brandon's. His expression was unreadable. Marillion rushed in.

"What happened?" he cried. "I heard a scream!" He saw the commotion in the kitchen and rushed in. "Mrs. Arryn!" he was at her side in a heartbeat. "Oh my god! Who did this to you?"

Jon entered from the back, wiping his hands on an oily rag. "What's the fuss?" he muttered, disinterested.

Brandon stepped closer to Sansa. "I think it's time I got Sansa home, good evening Jon - Mr. Korbray," Brandon said in a perfectly respectful manner, as if there wasn't a tragic scene being played out behind him.

Sansa followed him out, wordlessly, too stunned to do anything else. There were no more words left to say to this day. It was if all reason had blown up simply because of one visit to this hell house.

The drive home was silent, Sansa still trying to process everything she had seen and heard and learned today. Her Aunt Lysa was trapped in a madhouse with mad people trying to madden each other with their little gossips and hidden daggers, like a den of thieves all trying to poison each other in hopes of claiming the treasure all for themselves, except no one knows what the treasure is or if there even is one. Her father, Brandon was cheating on her mother so he could continue being with her mother, so that he could continue pretending to be her father. And to top it all off, she had been intoxicated, almost taken advantage of twice, had made and burned more bridges in a matter of hours than anyone should ever have the right to, and someone was watching her. Sansa looked up at the billboard looming over the hell mouth, it's three eyes staring at her suddenly more watchful than ever. "He Knows."

Sansa turned back around in her seat as they drove on to the Fingers.

When they reached the drive of her little home she immediately hopped out of the car.

"Sansa!" Brandon called, getting out of the car, leaving it to idle. "About today, please!"

He grasped her arm.

"Let me explain," he pleaded.

"No need," Sansa turned calmly to him. "It's okay, I understand."

"You do?"

Sansa nodded.

"As far as I'm concerned I saw nothing. I'm just a stupid girl that drank too much. Whatever happened today, is as much as forgotten."

He seemed relieved at that and turned to go back to his car.

"Brandon," Sansa called.

"Yes," he turned back instantly, his eyes betrayed the hurt at the fact that she hadn't called him father. "I think you should get a new telephone for the house."

It took him a second but as realization dawned upon him he nodded.

"That's all I ask, father," Sansa said evenly.

Brandon agreed, smiling, once more relieved. He got into his car and drove off, speeding slightly as he always does.

When he was far enough into the distance Sansa took in a deep breath. Looking over to the surprisingly quiet mansion beside her. It was late enough in the evening; usually the festivities would be started by now, but her neighbor's house was as silent as a graveyard. _(No party tonight, then?)_ From the top window she saw a figure shrouded in shadow staring down at her. She could feel his gaze once again, her head turned up to look back at him. Whatever it was about his man, it was unnerving yet enchanting all at the same time.

Sansa shook her head, and tore her eyes away, having enough of all the strange events that had occurred to her today. She was going to go inside, have a long bath, and curl into bed and sleep until tomorrow came. She didn't even want to journal, to put this day into words would be to allow it to exist, and she wasn't sure she wanted it to. Better to sleep it off and pretend it was all some weird dream. So, that was what she did. And as she curled under her covers that night, she tried to ignore the feeling of that mysterious man's gaze that had never truly left her since that first night weeks ago.

In her dreams she saw him again, in a black cloak of crow feathers, standing on his dock; it's green light growing brighter and brighter behind him.

"Someone is watching over you, Sansa."

He flew off in a murder of crows.

"I am watching you."


End file.
